If I Could Be Where you Are
by Hermione Eveningfall
Summary: Prequel to Watermark. This is a story of a friendship it is a story of a sudden lossand how does one cope with such a tragic circumstance? Especially at the young tender age of twelve?
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning of Summer

Title: If I could be where you are

Author: Hermione Eveningfall

Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia

Summary: The prequel to "Watermark". A story of a close friendship; of a sudden loss, and how Peter learns to cope.

Chapter 1

_The Beginning of Summer_

The summer of 1938 began like any other. On a particuarily warm and sticky day at the end of June, the four Pevensie children: Peter (12), Susan (10), Edmund (8) and Lucy (6), were preparing for the journey home from their prespective boarding schools. The boys went to one school and the girls to another, and though they were grateful to be out of each other's hair for a time, they missed each other terribly.

Or, at least…most of them displayed their feelings outwardly. Edmund, however, was just grateful for school to be done and over with…It had been an exhausting term, and they were ready for the long, glorious days of freedom that lay ahead.

"Peter!"

Peter closed his trunk with a snap, and with a grunt, drug it onto the floor. He turned as the door to the dormitory opened, revealing the flushed but beaming face of his best friend. Ethan Hunt, who was about two inches smaller than Peter, had a head of curly, mousse-colored hair and grey eyes.

"All packed?" Peter asked, drawing a hand against his sweaty brow.

"Mostly." Ethan smiled. "Hard to believe term is over, isn't it? I mean, I feel like we just began yesterday. I'll be jolly glad to be home again, however."

"Me too." Peter nodded, gazing out the window, which overlooked lusch, rolling hills.

"Say," Ethan said. "you ought to stop and visit for a week. You know I live by the sea, which will be bloody perfect considering how awful hot it's been this summer. I can't wait to dive in and swim about!"

There was a knock on the door to the dormitory, and after shouting "Come in!" Edmund peeped his head through. Peter motioned for his younger brother to join them, and, after giving Ethan a small nod of acknowldgement, Edmund reported that they were preparing to leave soon.

"All right, Ed," Peter replied with a smirk. "We'll be down soon."

"They won't wait for you," Ed retorted, before shutting the door again, and Ethan rolled his eyes.

"That brother of yours will never grow up, will he?" he asked, as the two boys began to drag their trunks out of the dormitory and towards the stairway. Already, groups of their classmates were gathering about the halls in crowds, talking in very loud or very soft voices and looking excited about the idea of vacation.

"When do you think you'll be able to invite me, Ethan?" Peter asked, as the headmaster called their attention, and asked them to form straight lines and to come down the stairs in single file.

"The cars are waiting to take you the train station," he announced in his deep, stern voice, and the talk ceased immediately. "I will be calling you in groups by alphabetical order, so there will not be chaos. Any chap with last names beginning with A, please grab your things and follow me. No pushing or shoving, now."

Edmund groaned…his last name, Pevensie, would be at the end of the list.

"I hope my mother will let you come visit early," Ethan finally answered Peter's question as the boys in the first group made their way past them and out towards the courtyard.

"Or perhaps later," Peter replied thoughtfully, smiling. "I think a trip to the seashore would be lovely the last week of summer, don't you?"

Edmund gave a huff. "Oy…not inviting me there, are you, Ethan?" he asked, as the boys with last names beginning with "B" were called down.

"Only have one guest room, I'm afraid," Ethan replied. "And as Peter's my best mate…"

"Ed, shut up for once," Peter snapped, and gave Ethan an apologetic look. "You can come stay with us for a bit too, if you like. I haven't introduced you to Susan or Lucy yet…our sisters."

"I would like that." He smiled, as his last name was called, and he waved to Peter, saying he would meet him on the train. When Ethan disappeared through the front doors of the dormitory, Edmund nudged Peter's arm.

"You don't think Mum and Dad would let you go, do you?" he asked, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"Why wouldn't they?" he asked, sitting down on top of his trunk. "Uh huh," he added, when Edmund didn't answer straight away. "I didn't think you had an answer."

When at last their letter was called, Peter attempted to help Edmund with his trunk, but his younger brother gave him an annoyed look, and insisted with a huff that he could "Do it himself, thanks." Peter blew out his breath and prepared to make the journey to the car. He couldn't wait to be home again, to their three story flat in London. However, during the summer, they went to their cottage in the country for a couple of weeks to get away from the noise and pollution of the city.

He couldn't wait to see the old cottage again, surrounded by woods and gardens…with a river running through and a pond. He, Susan and Edmund spent hours on end exploring the grounds, catching bugs and other tiny animals. Lucy, who couldn't "swim for nuts" as she put it, romped around with her siblings on land.

"Peter, we're there," Edmund announced, nudging his brother with his elbow. Peter blinked out of his daydream, and saw the train station approaching. It was crowded with the usual passengers, looking irritated and rushed as usual.

"Hullo, wake up, Dolly daydreams!" Ethan waved frantically from one of the windows as Peter and Edmund walked along the platform, and Peter glanced over his shoulder, waving back. "I've saved you a seat, mate, so hurry up!"

"You can sit with us," Peter offered, as the conductor helped them with their trunks, and took their tickets.

"With you two boor? I'd rather not," Edmund snorted.

"Suit yourself," Peter replied, waving half-heartedly as he went to find his friend's compartment. Ethan sat staring out the window, and turned when he heard the door open and close.

"Oh, feels good to be on the train at last," Peter breathed, grateful to sit down and be able to stretch his legs. "Though it's still so broiling hot." He fanned his beat-red face with his hands, and loosened the collar of his crisp, white shirt.

"There's a breeze coming in at least," Ethan pointed out, nodding towards the open window. "we'll keep it open when it starts moving."

Peter leaned his head back against the soft, cushioned seat, and watched as Ethan pulled open his sketch pad. He was known as one of the best artists at the school, and was hoping to sell his work and become famous one day. Peter jumped when the train whistle blew shrilly, and he could hear the steam puffing from the smoke stack.

"So what's the first thing you're going to do when you get home?" Ethan asked, not looking up from his sketch.

"Have a nice cup of tea," Peter replied softly, and Ethan wrinkled his nose.

"Cold or hot? I'd prefer anything cold, personally," he admitted, and Peter smirked.

"I suppose either…Mum makes brilliant cold tea, and adds a dash of mint into it."

"You drink more tea than anyone I know I think," Ethan laughed, and Peter grinned.

"I'm British, mate, what d'you expect?" he asked, and Ethan grinned.

"And I'm not?"

"What are you drawing?" Peter asked, reaching over to snatch the portfolio, and Ethan held it out of his reach.

"Oh no you don't," he laughed.

"You're drawing me, aren't you?" Peter asked.

"No," Ethan retorted.

"Come on, then, let me see," Peter begged, making a lunge for it again, and grabbed it by the edge.

"Peter, you dolt!" Ethan cried as the train began moving, and his friend gave him a mischevious smile. "Oh, all right, I suppose you can have a look. It's nothing well…important."

Peter flipped open the top of the portfolio, and peered down. He studied the drawings closely for a moment, and Ethan stared, waiting anxiously for his opinion.

"What are these?" he asked, and Ethan bit his lip.

"You'll think I'm mad, Peter," he said quietly, and Peter snorted.

"Too late," he teased, and Ethan shook his head.

"No, really. I…well…they're supposed to be fairies."

Peter stared at him. "Huh?"

"You know, fairies. The little people with wings. Like Tinker Bell in Mr. Barrie's book 'Peter Pan'."

Peter stared at the drawings again, not quite sure what to make of them. He flipped through the pages of parchment, being careful not to crinkle the artwork. "Did you just make these up, Ethan?" he asked, and his friend sighed.

"That's the thing," he answered. "I don't know."

"Oh, now you've officially gone batty," Peter said, handing back the portfolio.

"Well, I've been dreaming about fairies lately. I don't know why," Ethan admitted. "This beautiful green country with rolling hills just like the grounds at our school, only…only well, the…school isn't there, you see. Just grand and endless, with all kinds of magical creatures, like dyrads, and animals that talk…I know it sounds balmy, but…it's so real, Peter. And…when I wake up, I wish I hadn't."

Peter swallowed, wishing he could have a cup of water. "How long have you been having dreams like that?" he asked, grateful when the steward came around with fresh water for each of them.

"Since the beginning of term," Ethan admitted. "Peter, you're the first I've ever told this to," he said. "and I'd prefer you didn't go telling anyone else."

"I won't," Peter promised sincerely, and smiled. "You should come and visit our cottage when we go up for a visit," he suggested. "and I'll come and see you at the seashore."

Ethan smiled. "I would like that. Hopefully both of our marks are good. I daresay, if my scores are anywhere below passing, Mum will throw a fit."

Peter laughed. "I think we'll be just fine," he promised.

At last, about an hour and a half later, the King's Cross Station came into view. Peter couldn't wait to see Susan and Lucy…especially since it was Lucy's first time away at boarding school. Prior to being sent off, the Pevensie children had been educated at home.

"PETER!" An excited female voice cried over the roar of the engine and the crowd shuffling about on the platform when he got off. Susan: tall, slender and dark-haired, threw her arms around her brother. Lucy stood watching as Edmund followed Ethan off of the train, and the two younger siblings greeted each other awkwardly.

"See you, then," Ethan said, and started to walk away, but Peter held his arm.

"Hold on. Ethan, these are my sisters…Susan and Lucy." He turned to them. "Girls, this is my friend Ethan. He might be coming to stay with us over the summer."

Susan held out her hand and shook Ethan's firmly, smiling. "Hullo," she greeted, and he nodded politely.

"Hello. Well, I'll make sure you hear from me soon, Peter," he added, and the two friends gave each other a quick embrace.

"I'd better," Peter teased, and watched as his friend disappeared through the mob. He reached down after Ethan left, and picked up Lucy, giving her a great hug. "You've gone and turned into a giant, Lu," he gasped, noticing just how big she'd gotten over the term.

"I haven't," she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck as they struggled with their suitcases to find their parents. "You've gone and shrunk."

He stuck his tongue out at her playfully, and they caught sight of their mother, who stood a few feet away, waving frantically at them.

"Mummy!" Lucy squealed, squirming, and Peter allowed her to get down and run to Mrs. Pevensie, who scooped her youngest daughter into her arms.

"I've missed you all so much," she gasped, kissing them all over their faces. Peter groaned in irritation, though Edmund looked thoroughly disgusted.

"Peter, have you been eating at all?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, clucking her tongue. "You're dreadfully thin!"

"Mum," he whined, and she chuckled.

"Well, there will be plenty of food for you when we get home. Daddy's working late, so it'll just be us for supper. Come along, now."

Lucy spoke a million miles a minute as they walked, and Peter glanced over his shoulder as the train began to leave the station. The summer holidays had truly begun at last.


	2. Chapter 2: Lazy Days

Chapter 2

_Lazy Days_

"I'm so hot," Lucy complained, as she and her siblings lounged on the couches in the living room a week later. The Pevensies were preparing for their month-long holiday in the country, but to endure the stifling heat in their apartment in London was almost unbearable.

Susan looked at Peter, who had his arms draped over the back of the chair he sat in, sweat pouring down his face.

"And I'm bored," Edmund complained. "there's nothing to do."

"I could use a swim, surely," Susan said, as she stood to open the window further. Peter let out a soft groan; he couldn't help feeling jealous of Ethan, who was probably enjoying himself fully at the seashore. He'd mentioned the idea of a possible invitation to visit the Hunts at the end of the holiday, and his parents were perfectly agreeable to it.

"I think it's wonderful that you've been making new friends, Peter," Mrs. Pevensie told her son. Peter was a bit of a bookworm, and they worried that he kept to himself a bit more than was expected of boys his age.

"Well, we'll be at the cottage soon," Lucy said, sipping from a glass of ice cold lemonade. "and there will be tons to do!"

"I'm so excited that we're leaving tomorrow," Susan added, turning away from the window.

Peter wet his lips; he hadn't mentioned the idea of inviting Ethan to the cottage yet. "I wonder if I should tell Mum that Ethan wants to come and stay for a bit," he said, turning the page in his volume of Shakespeare's "Macbeth". Susan looked at him from where she'd picked up her needlepoint, and smiled.

"I liked him," she said. "Ethan. When did you two meet?"

Peter marked the page he was on in his book, and smiled when Lucy crawled up onto the couch beside him. "I missed you lots when I was at school, Peter," she said, and he chuckled.

"I missed you too, Lu," he replied, and Edmund stuck out his tongue, pretending to gag with disgust. Susan took one of the small pillows from the couch and whacked him on the head with it.

"I met Ethan at the start of term banquet, actually," Peter replied to Susan's question. "we just started talking…"

"About boring stuff," Edmund teased, and growled as Susan dealt him another blow on the head with her pillow.

"Stop being such a git, Ed," Susan snapped, and her younger brother stuck out his tongue before lying back down on the floor again.

"Is everything all right, my dears?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, coming over to Peter and placing a kiss on top of his head. "You look tired," she added, and Peter shut his book.

"I'm all right, Mum," he promised, and Edmund sat up.

"I say we go to the park and play football,"

"In this heat?" Mrs. Pevensie asked.

"Mum, might we go swimming?" Susan asked, sitting her needlepoint down and standing up to stretch. "Peter will look after us, won't you, Peter?" she asked, and he smiled.

"I can't swim, so that's not fair," Lucy pouted, and Mrs. Pevensie laughed.

"Well, dears, I am sorry, but perhaps you could cool yourselves off with the hose outside?"

They stared at each other…what a grand idea!

"I hadn't thought about it," Susan admitted, and Lucy hopped down from the couch, jumping up and down.

"Oooh! I'm going to get into my suit now!"

"Lucy?" Mrs. Pevensie called, and her youngest daughter stopped mid-stride. "You have chocolate all over your face."

"Mum!" Lucy whined as her mother wipped the crumbs off of her cheek.

When Susan, Edmund and Lucy had gone to get into their suits, Peter stopped to talk to his mother in private. "What is it, darling?" she asked, and Peter put his hands behind his back.

"Um, I was wondering…d'you remember that friend I was telling you about, Ethan?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"Would it be all right if he came for a visit at our cottage? As kind of an exchange for his inviting me to the seashore?"

She kissed Peter's forehead. "Of course it would be all right. Only, try not to make it this week, love, because you know how Papa is…trying to get everything put in it's proper place."

Peter laughed. "Yes, and it takes almost as long as our holiday!" he beamed. "Thanks," he added, and Mrs. Pevensie watched as he hurried after his siblings. Peter was growing so fast—all of them were. It had been difficult to send Lucy away with Susan to school, especially since she was the last of the children to go.

Mrs. Pevensie listened as the four of them chased each other about laughing upstairs, and watched as each of them scurried down the steps. "Be careful!" she shouted. "Peter…"

"I will, Mum," Peter promised, and Susan blew her mother a kiss as they dashed out the door.

The four siblings enjoyed their time outdoors, fighting each other with the hose…the boys against the girls or the other way around. "PETER!" Susan shrieked when he came up behind her, and she laughed as Lucy leapt onto his back tickling his sides.

"Stoppit!" Peter burst out laughing, reaching behind to try and get the intruder off, but Lucy merely clung tighter.

"Say Uncle!" Lucy giggled, and Peter had to suck in air to keep from fainting.

"Uncle!" he begged, and she finally released him.

"Golly, Lu, you'd not do badly as a wrestler!" Peter panted, sitting down on the doorstep.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"No, of course not."

"Good." She picked up the hose and sprayed him again, shrieking with laughter and dashing off around the back of the house.

When Mr. Pevensie came home after dinner that night, everyone was on him at once. Peter looked more like his father than his mother, which amused him, because he tended to get along a bit better with his mother. Edmund, however, was the complete opposite, and was the first to leap into his father's arms.

"When are we going to the cottage, Daddy?" Lucy asked, tugging on the sleeve of his overcoat. Mr. Pevensie, tall and light-haired, owned the large publishing firm in the center of town. His hours were rarely the same; one day he would leave very early in the morning and come back around six o'clock, or leave around lunchtime and stay until nine or ten o'clock.

"Hopefully first thing in the afternoon, poppet," he said, and gave Peter a pat on the shoulder. "Thank you for your letters," he said, for his eldest son wrote often from the academy.

"Dad, Mum said it was all right if my friend Ethan came to stay with us at he cottage for a time," Peter said, once his father was settled in his favorite chair and sipping a cup of tea. All four children were curled around their parents—Lucy on her mother's lap. Peter sat at the piano bench, and Edmund stretched out at his father's feet.

"Oh? Who is this friend?" Mr. Pevensie asked, lighting his pipe, which gave off the most pleasant aroma.

"Ethan Hunt," Peter explained, and Lucy caught sight of him fingering the black and white keys under the oak latch.

"I see."

"Can he come?" Peter asked, and Lucy climbed off of her mother's lap, rushing over to the piano.

"I suppose…"

"Now don't tease Peter like that, John," Mrs. Pevensie laughed, and Lucy leaned her head on Peter's shoulder.

"Let's play 'row row row your boat again'," she begged, for when they were home, Peter helped her with her piano lessons, having gotten them himself.

Susan yawned from where she sat beside her mother on the couch reading, and Peter looked at his sister.

"I suppose one song," Mrs. Pevensie agreed. "but then it's off to bed, because we have a long day tomorrow."

"Turn the music, Lu," Peter encouraged, and she gasped with delight, pulling the pages open and flipping to the particular song. Edmund rolled his eyes from where he sat.

"Lucy learned how to play chopsticks," Susan announced.

"Did you?" Peter asked, and his little sister blushed.

"I'm not very good," she admitted, and he laughed.

"I'm sure you're fine, Lu. Why don't you start, and then we'll see where we wind up?"

Everyone watched as Lucy took a deep breath and put her fingers in the correct position. She began to play carefully, her tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth, and Peter joined in with her. Susan looked at her mother with a smile, and Mrs Helen Pevensie hugged her eldest daughter tight.

Soon, Peter and Lucy were playing the song quickly, and were grinning at one another as they came towards the end of he piece.

"Bravo!" Mr. Pevensie cheered, and the rest of the family clapped when they finished, and Lucy giggled.

"Up to bed, all of you," Mrs. Pevensie ordered, and Peter picked Lucy up.

"C'mon," he said, and, after giving each of their parents kisses, Peter led the way up the narrow staircase to their bedrooms on the second floor.

"Tuck me in, Peter," Lucy begged, as Edmund disappeared into his room, and Susan into hers.

"I'm not Mum or Dad," he teased as she took off her slippers and hopped onto her mattress.

"No, but I want you to do it tonight," she replied, and he felt his heart melt…his little sister could be so sweet sometimes!

"All right." He helped her under the covers, fluffed her pillows, and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Did you say your prayers tonight?" he added, and she nodded. "Okay, Lu. Sweet dreams."

She yawned loudly again, and gave a weary wave as he turned down the lamp, nearly running into his mother as he came into the hall. "Is everything all right?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, and he nodded.

"Yes, Mum. I tucked Lucy in."

"Thank you, Peter. And leave your window open, dear…it might let at least a light breeze through," she said, after hugging him.

"Good night, Mum," Peter replied, and disappeared into his own bedroom, shutting the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3: The Summer House

Chapter 3

_The Summer House_

The Pevensie family spent the remainder of the week in their London flat, and early on Friday morning, prepared for the journey to the cottage. Ethan had called on Thursday evening to give Peter the rundown of the holiday plans, and Peter begged his father to let his friend come as soon as he was able.

"As long as you two don't cause a ruckus, I suppose he may," Mr. Pevensie replied with a smirk.

"Lu, let me help you with those," Peter laughed as his youngest sister struggled with her two suitcases. Susan yawned loudly as she stumbled out of her room at last, not enjoying being up at sunrise.

The children made their way to the kitchen, where their mother was preparing a breakfast of pancakes and bacon. "Peter, darling, would you go and help your father after breakfast? He's going to start put all of our things into the car as soon as possible. And Edmund, I'll need you to run this note to Aunt Anna and remind her that the dogs need looking after while we're away. I told her, but you know how absent minded she can be."

Edmund nodded, sitting down in his spot at the table. Lucy was practically asleep in her plate, and only awoke when her mother placed food on it. "I wish it would stop being so dreadfully humid," Susan complained, after pouring herself a glass of orange juice, and passing the pitcher to Peter.

"Mum, Ethan said he should be able to come tomorrow," Peter said, once Mr. Pevensie arrived, looking cheerful. He tickled Lucy's sides as he greeted each of his children, causing her to squeal with giggles.

"I always look forward to this time of the year," he laughed heartily. "To be up with the sun and not have to be at the publishing house."

Mrs. Pevensie smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her. Edmund and Lucy stuck out their tongues in disgust, and, as was customary, Lucy started Edmund's day with a playful pinch on the arm.

"Ow! Lu, why do you always have to do that?" he asked, and she merely grinned.

"I did miss you, Edmund," she teased, and he gave a low growl.

"Now children, I do hope you won't bicker the entire journey," Mrs. Pevensie scolded once they all were seated and eating. Peter and Susan glanced at each other and smiled.

"Peter sleeps the entire way, so no, we wont," Susan laughed.

"So do you," he retorted, and she shrugged.

"And as for Ethan coming tomorrow, around what time do you expect him?" Mr. Pevensie asked, and Peter looked at his mother.

"He said around lunchtime," he replied. "His mother is driving him. Our cottage is not far from their house."

"He must be dreadfully lucky to be at the seashore," Lucy breathed between bites. "I'd give anything to be there now."

"Me too," Susan agreed. "I love the smell of the ocean and the sound of the seagulls."

"Perhaps we'll take a trip there next summer, eh?" Mr. Pevensie asked, and the children nodded eagerly in agreement.

When breakfast ended, the boys went to take on their given tasks, while Susan and Lucy helped their mother make sure everything was in place in the house. They piled into the car around nine o'clock, and, as Susan predicted, Peter was sound asleep barely ten minutes in. His head rested against the window, his hand tucked under his cheek.

Lucy sat beside him, and Susan sat with Edmund in the back seat. Lucy watched Peter for a time, before she got to yawning herself, and curled up against him to get comfortable. The ride to the Cotswolds…the area of England where the cottage was located…was about an hour and a half outside of London. Mr. Pevensie grew up in the cottage they used for the summer holidays, and inherited it when his parents died. He'd taken up a flat in London to be closer to his work, but decided a trip to the country was well earned for his family at certain periods of the year.

Susan read from her book for most of the journey, much too excited to drift off to sleep, though she jumped when Edmund slid against her after he went out.

Peter was gently shaken awake when they arrived at the cottage, and he helped Lucy out of the car. The four children stood gaping at the beautiful landscape: the rolling hills were more spectacular than ever, it seemed, and the woods. "It seems like they could just be full of magic, don't they?" Lucy asked, after they began to unload their luggage.

"Don't be stupid," Edmund growled as he carried a bow that was almost as big as he was, into the two story cottage.

"Shut up, Ed," Peter warned. The air was less stuffy here in the countryside than in the city, and Peter already felt as though he were able to breathe easier. The Pevensie's summer home was quite a lovely place, containing an enourmous sitting room, kitchen, a bathroom, and three bedrooms. The boys shared one room and the girls another, though they were hardly inside at all except to sleep.

"Come on, let's go out and explore!" Lucy begged impatiently once everything was put in its place. Or, at least, once Mr. Pevensie sat on the porch with his pipe and a book; that was a sign that they had a good couple of hours to do whatever they pleased.

"Take care of each other," Mrs. Pevensie called from her seat on the porch, where she took up her knitting.

"What shall we do first?" Lucy asked as they dashed across the great lawn and towards the entrance of the woods.

"Well, I'm dying to go canoeing," Susan told Peter, and Lucy frowned.

"You can do that tomorrow, can't you?" she asked. "I want to catch butterflies!"

"Ed, why don't you go with Lucy and catch your bugs? Peter and I will do some rowing," Susan suggested, and Edmund was all for her suggestion; he didn't want to be around his older siblings, to be fussed at all the time.

"Perhaps we should just take a walk through our old haunts before we decide on anything," Peter said, leaning against a tree trunk, and taking in the sweet scent of fresh grass and flowers. The sun felt so wonderful on his face, and the breeze…the breeze that blew through the leaves was absolutely lovely.

"That's an idea," Susan agreed. "Let's!"

"We can go fairy hunting!" Lucy gasped, and Edmund rolled his eyes.

"You and your imagination," he teased, and she stuck out her tongue.

"Where do you think fairies live, Lu?" Peter asked, as he followed his siblings down their old, dirt path. She stepped back to hold his hand, and skipped along.

"Oh, everywhere surely," she replied. "they're all over…hiding in the trees, in the grass…that's why you have to be very careful walking, or you'll step on one!"

Peter was tempted to tell Lucy about Ethan's drawings of the fairies on the train, but remembered his plead not to reveal the information to anyone. He'd seemed rather nervous about the entire subject, actually. Peter couldn't get Ethan's words: _And when I'd wake up, I almost wish I hadn't…_out of his head. He shuddered, and caught up with Susan who had gone on ahead.

_It's probably nothing_, Peter assured himself. _You have strange dreams all the time. But they're just dreams. And Ethan's always been rather daft. _He had to smile at that thought; his best friend's imagination was nearly as wild as Lucy's, but he liked him all the more for it.

"Oooh!" Susan cried. "I see the creek up a head! Let's go and stick our feet in it, just to see what the water feels like. Shall we?" she removed her boots and socks, allowing her toes to sink into the soft mud and grass.

"Peter, are you all right?" Lucy asked, realizing he'd stopped, and Susan glanced over her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Peter blinked. "Oh…nothing. I was just…thinking, that's all." He shrugged. "It's nothing, really," he insisted, and Susan wet her lips.

"The heat is getting to all of us, I do think," she said, and he nodded, grateful when they were all seated at the edge of the bank. Peter stretched out on his back, gazing through the spaces in the leaves. The grass felt so cool and comforting against his back, and he closed his eyes after a few moments.

"I could lay here all day," Lucy breathed after a bit of time passed. "and just stare at the sky. What do you think those clouds look like, Peter?" she asked, and her oldest brother cracked open an eye.

"Eh, what?" he asked, and she tugged on his cotton shirt.

"What d'you think the clouds look like? I think that one over there looks like a lamb. See the little tail?" she giggled, and Susan joined in the laughter.

Peter closed his eyes again, the sound of the bubbling brook so claming, that he didn't want to get up.

Eventually, though, Susan encouraged them all to follow her off to her favorite place…a grove of willow trees.

The four children spent the rest of the afternoon romping about, and did not return to the cottage until it was almost time for supper. "You're filthy," Mrs. Pevensie said, as they clambered into the house, covered with dirt, grass, and sweating horribly. "What have you been doing all day?"

Lucy gave her mother a sheepish grin, and Peter put an arm around her shoulders. "Just running about, Mum. We're all fine," he promised, and she shook her finger at them.

"Well, dinner is almost ready to be put on the table, Peter, so all four of you are to go upstairs to wash and dress. Susan? Make sure Lucy gets behind her ears!" Mrs. Pevensie added, and Lucy pouted.

After they had all gotten short baths and were in clean clothes, they trooped back down to the kitchen, where a roast sat on the table along with a bowl of boiled potatoes and green beans. They were all naturally famished, after all of the exercise. Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie were actually quite pleased at the rosiness in Peter's cheeks. He was usually rather pale and quiet, preferring to read rather than play football or baseball like the other boys in the neighborhood.

"Might I go out and catch fireflies after supper, Mummy?" Lucy asked, as they began eating, and Mrs. Pevensie glanced out the window. Dusk was falling, though it would not get dark for at least another hour.

"I don't want you outside by yourself, Lucy," she said softly, and Lucy tugged on Peter's sleeve.

"Say you'll catch fireflies too, Peter," she begged, giving him the puppy face that melted his heart every time. "Please?" she watched as he took another bite of food, and after swallowing, he smiled.

"Of course, Lu."

"Are you sure, dear?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, and he nodded. When Lucy was born, Peter immediately took his youngest sister for his very own. He adored her; she was his favorite, for certain.

"I'll watch her from the porch," he said nodding. "I have some reading I wanted to catch up on, but I don't mind sitting outside."

Lucy beamed, and Edmund scowled.

"Lucy, slow down," Susan laughed, as her youngest sister shoveled in the rest of her dinner. As soon as Peter was ready, she hopped up and tugged on his sleeve, pulling him away from the table. She fetched an empty jar, and Peter took his book of Shakespeare, following her out into the cool night air. The moon had appeared now, and the first stars were twinkling in the dusky light.

"Stay right where I can see you, Lu," he called as she hopped down to the grass, kicking off her shoes along the way. She turned and smiled, nodding.

"I will!" she promised, immediately spotting an unsuspecting victim, and went after it. Peter sat down on the steps, opening his book on his knees, and yawned quietly. It had been a long day in deed, but certainly rewarding. He couldn't wait until Ethan arrived; they would have jolly good times.

"You little sneak!" Lucy giggled, tumbling onto the soft grass, having missed a lightening bug by half an inch. She lay very still, her eyes focused on a bug flying centimeters from her nose. She raised her hands and clapped them together, gasping when she felt the tickling of wings against her palms. "I've got one!" she exclaimed, and Peter looked up from his book, smiling. "Come, quick, and hold the jar for me…I don't want to loose him!" she begged, and, chuckling, Peter set his book aside.

He hurried down the steps and to where his youngest sister lay, picking up the glass jar and kneeling down. "I don't want to hurt him," Lucy said, as Peter unscrewed the lid, and held the jar at the ready. She plopped the miniature bug inside, and he covered it up again. The two of them watched, fascinated, as the firefly's soft yellow glow illuminated the glass.

"Does Ethan like to catch fireflies?" she asked as she took the glass jar from Peter, continuing to stare at it.

"I haven't asked him," Peter replied, ruffling her hair. She stuck out her tongue as he began to tickle her sides, and she curled into a ball, squealing with giggles.

"Peter, stop!" she gasped in between laughter, and lay sprawled out panting when he released her.

"He seems nice, you know," Lucy replied. "From what I saw of him."

"He'll like you, Lucy," Peter promised. "I've already gone and told him you're my favorite." He winked, and she grinned.

"Now Peter, that's not fair," she giggled. "Mum said favorites weren't nice." She hugged him around the waist. "but you're my favoritest brother," she promised.

"I'm going to read a couple more pages, Lu, and then we should turn in for the night. It's starting to get a bit chilly." He rubbed his arms, feeling goosebumps forming on his skin, and she smiled as a gentle breeze caused her dress to blow into a mushroom shape.

"All right." She watched as he stood and made his way back to the porch, before dashing around in the grass a little longer. She eventually climbed back onto the porch, grinning at the sight of Peter so immersed in his book. The porch light was on now, giving him proper illumination to read by. She plopped down on his lap at that moment, nearly sitting on top of his book, too.

"Mmmph, Lu!" Peter gasped, and she merely turned, giving him a big smile.

"Can I read, too?" she asked. "Do you hafta read much more, Peter?"

Peter yawned, glancing at the page number. "One more paragraph, Lu, and we'll call it a night, mmm?"

She nodded, though Susan opened the window at that moment. "Peter, Mum says you ought to come inside. It's getting cold," she added, and Peter and Lucy grinned at each other.

"One more paragraph," he begged, and Susan sighed.

"You and your books!" she exclaimed, shutting the window halfway again, and he heard Susan call to Mrs. Pevensie what he'd said.

Lucy nestled against her brother's chest as he continued reading, her eyes drooping. Her muscles were sore from all of the hiking, and she was ready to drop into bed.

Peter eventually finished reading, and, after marking the page, realized his sister was half asleep against him. "All right, Lucy Lu," he whispered, lifting her into one arm. "Shall we let this little bug free?"

Lucy yawned, blinking sleepily. "Mmmhmmm." She lay on his shoulder, and he unscrewed he lid, watching as the firefly zoomed into the darkness. When he reached down to pick up his book, he managed to balance his sleeping sister and open the door to the cottage at the same time.

"She's worn herself out," Mrs. Pevensie laughed softly as she took her daughter from her eldest son's arms. "Thank you for looking out for her, dear."

Peter yawned loudly too, and nodded. "You're welcome, Mum."

"There is a plate of cookies on the kitchen table if you'd like a snack before bed," Mrs. Pevensie whispered, and Peter nodded, going to join Susan at the table. She sat nibbling on one of the treats, dressed in her nightgown.

"Hello," she said as he sat down, and poured himself a glass of milk.

"What have you been doing all night?" Peter asked, and took a cookie for himself from the plate.

"Playing checkers with Dad," she replied thoughtfully. "I ache everywhere, Peter. Don't you?"

Peter smirked. "Yeah," he replied. "My arms, especially. We don't climb willows much at home." He winked, and she grinned

"Well, I'm going to bed," she replied, kissing him on the forehead.

"Good night," Peter told her, and she gave him a soft wave, before making her way upstairs.

When the house had grown quiet…after Mum and Dad peeked in to say good night and to tell him not to sit up too late, Peter made his way upstairs. He didn't go to sleep immediately, but sat on the windowsill, peering over the rolling hills. There wasn't another house for miles; the peace and quiet was absolutely lovely.

He heard Edmund give a loud snore and turned to look at his brother, who was lying on top of the blankets with his arms and legs sprawled over the sides of the bed. Peter shook his head, turning his attention back to the window, and pulling his knees up to his chest. A cool breeze blew through the window, ruffling his light hair, and blowing the curtains so they billowed around him.

He eventually grew too chilly sitting by the window, and shut it halfway, before collapsing onto his bed in a heap. Ethan would be arriving the next afternoon.


	4. Chapter 4: Jolly Good Times

Chapter 4

_Jolly Good Times_

"Ethan's here! Ethan's here!" Lucy cried early the next afternoon, and in a flash, was off the porch and running down the narrow road. Peter stood from his chair and set his book aside, laughing heartily as the car pulled to a stop in front of the house. Lucy was just as excited about his best friend's arrival as he was, and practically hopped directly into the other boy's arms when he stepped out of the car.

"Good gracious," Mrs. Hunt, a middle-aged widower and a midwife, stepped out as well, taking Peter's hands in hers. "How are you, my dear?" she asked, and Peter smiled.

"I'm all right," he promised. "Lucy, let go," he ordered. When she did so (rather reluctantly), Ethan gave the small child's head a reassuring pat before clasping his best friend on the shoulder.

"Good to see you, mate," he said, holding his suitcase. "This is very nice," he added, taking in the surroundings with satisfaction. The cottage was large and built out of old stone, and had ivy climbing along the sides. He adored it immediately, and instantly thought back to the houses described in his book of fairytales.

"Thanks. Come on in," he encouraged. "Let me take your things."

Lucy led the way into the house, where Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie greeted their guests cheerfully, hugging and kissing Ethan, and told him to make himself home at once. Susan stood shyly to the side, blushing slightly when Ethan turned to greet her. "Hello," she replied, her voice barely a squeak.

"Dear, are you sure you'll be all right?" Mrs. Hunt asked in her quiet Irish accent as she finished talking to Mrs. Pevensie, and the two women glanced at their sons.

"Of course, Mum," Ethan insisted, with a slight roll of his eyes. "I'm not a child."

"We'll take good care of him, I assure you," Mrs. Pevensie promised, and, after telling Peter to take Ethan upstairs and get him settled, led Mrs. Hunt outside to her car.

"Not sure where Ed is," Peter admitted as the two boys climbed the stairs, entering the bedroom Peter shared with his younger brother. "Probably sulking."

Ethan snickered as he set his suitcase down in the corner, agreeing to the idea of he and Peter using sleeping bags. "I didn't think it was fair that one of us should get the bed, so I figured both of us could sleep on the floor. Kind of like camping, you know?" Peter explained, and Ethan nodded.

"I think it would be wicked fun if we could spend a night outside under the stars, don't you?" he asked, as they both peered out the great window.

"Maybe," Peter replied quietly, and Ethan looked at him.

"Take me all over," he encouraged. "Come on. Three days is not long at all, you know."

With a whoop of excitement, both boys dashed down the steps and through the main door, nearly tripping over Edmund who was on his way in.

"Watch it, you idiots!" Edmund snapped, and Ethan glanced over his shoulder.

"Ignore him," Peter growled. "Come on, I have to take you to to the creek and willow grove. We're going rowing tomorrow, and I'm sure…"

"Rowing? You mean, canoeing?" Ethan asked as they ran towards the entrance of the woods, pausing and taking in the sights and sounds of the birds and trees.

"Yeah. Susan really enjoys it, though she's a much better rower than I am. I'll let you partner up with her, since I'm afraid Ed might throw you overboard…"

Ethan laughed as they began walking down the main forest path, their feet crunching on twigs. "Your brother can be a git," he admitted. "though I love little Lucy. That was sweet of her, really, running to see me like she did."

Peter nudged his arm playfully. "I told her all about you, and she's already convinced you're…well, how did she put it? Magical."

Ethan stared at him, and Peter held up his hands innocently. "I didn't tell them," he promised. "I only said you liked fairy stories, because she does, too. I didn't tell them about the drawings, or about…the dream."

Ethan sighed with relief as they continued on their way, and he clasped his hands behind his back. "Good," he said softly. "because…Peter, I had another one last night. I haven't had one since before term ended." He looked at his friend.

"What could they mean, do you think?" Peter asked as they reached the willow grove in good time. He climbed to a high branch and hung upside down like a monkey, making Ethan laugh. "Well come on, then," he encouraged, and made room so Ethan could sit on the branch when he climbed up. Soon the two of them were leaning against the trunk, taking in the beautiful sights of the forest.

"I don't know," Ethan admitted. "Mum didn't want me to come, Peter. She's so lonely without Dad." His eyes misted a little; Ethan lost his father in a trolly accident a few days before the past term began, which is why he'd been keeping to himself quite a bit. Peter encouraged him to come out of his shell, and that was how the boys became practically insperable.

"I'm sorry," Peter apologized, and Ethan shook his head.

"No, I wanted to visit." He bit his lip. "You really think I'm daft, don't you?" he asked when Peter was quiet for a while, and Peter looked at him.

"You know I don't," he said in a reassuring tone. "Not really, anyway. Ethan, come on." He patted his friend's shoulder. "But, let's change the subject, shall we?"

Ethan nodded. "Sorry," he apologized, and then hung upside down himself. "I can't wait until we're old enough to go to the pub at school," he said, crossing his arms, and looking ridiculous with his hair sticking straight up. The backs of Peter's knees ached from hanging, but he enjoyed the thrill of being this high. "Pretty wicked that they made one just for us, eh?"

Peter eventually swung down to the ground, his head spinning from the blood rushing to it. "Whoa!" he nearly stumbled backwards, and had to catch himself against the tree trunk. "Yes," he agreed, laughing as his friend tackled him to the ground, and the two engaged in a miniature wrestling match. "and come home singing in loud, drunken slurs—you know, like those dolts who decide to stay out past midnight. I'd rather not be like them, personally, but that doesn't mean we can't stay out late."

"Well, they close the bar at two," Ethan said. "and I don't mean we'd necessarily be drinking, either. Plenty of lovely ladies there, too." He winked, and Peter snorted, once he got his friend in a headlock.

"You call yourself a good Christian?" he asked, and the two spread out on the grass after a few minutes, panting. "Your Mum would box your ears if she heard you talking like this." He winked, and Ethan stuck out his tongue.

"Well, Mum's not here. And yes, I am a good Christian. But by jove, Peter, I'm a boy, too! I'm not planning on being a priest, so I can have an interest in girls if I like!" he sighed with content before sitting up. "I'll race you to that boulder there," he challeneged, and Peter rolled his eyes. "might need a head start though, eh?" he winked, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"Why are you always picking on me?" he laughed.

"Because I have nothing better to do with my time," Ethan retorted. "Ready?" he asked, and Peter bent low, taking a deep breath. Ethan had always been a faster runner than he was, but on occasion he purposely slowed down to let Peter have a chance to win. "Set…go!" he took off and Peter after him; the two of them ran as fast as their legs could carry them, laughing the entire way. As usual, Ethan won, but Peter came in at a close second, tagging the rock.

"By the end of this summer, you're going to beat me in a race," Ethan said through pants. "You're a little taller, so your legs are longer. You should be beating me anyway."

Peter swallowed, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'm not much of an athlete," he admitted. "I prefer books to sports."

"Well, I like books, too, but I think you'd marry your books if you could," Ethan teased, and Peter stuck out his tongue.

The two boys wandered about the woods for the remainder of the afternoon, chatting happily about anything they found to be of particular interest.

When they arrived back to the cottage, they were both famished.

"You are a good influence on him, Ethan," Mrs. Pevensie praised, pleased by her eldest son's rosy cheeks. He always seemed a bit to pale in her opinion.

Susan turned white when Ethan sat beside her at dinner that night, and found she didn't have much of an appetite. She had her chin in her palm and focused intently on everything he had to say, but would merely stutter or mumble when he'd ask her opinion.

After dinner, Lucy begged Ethan to tell her what he knew about fairies, and Edmund, the git he was, ignored his siblings and guest completely. The youngest of the Pevensie boys sat to the side of the room, staring into the fireplace with his signature scowl.

Peter watched as Lucy cuddled up to his friend, and shook his head with a chuckle. "I think you may have an extra shadow," he laughed, and Lucy stuck out her tongue.

When it was time for bed, Peter and Ethan sent the younger children upstairs, but sat up late into the night talking amongst themselves.

"I'm glad to be here, Peter," Ethan admitted. "I needed to get away."

Peter heartily agreed.

"Well, you know we're always glad to have you," he replied. "Lucy will be devastated when you have to go."

Ethan grinned. "I've always wanted a little brother or sister. You're lucky, Peter." He blew out his breath. "It does get lonely being an only child…especially when Mum's always out on her rounds caring for patients. It's been a bad year this year, and she doesn't think this summer's going to look any better."

Peter nodded, yawning loudly. "Sorry," he apologized. "I'm not used to running around so much…I'm pretty tired."

Ethan shook his head, promising that no offense was taken.

"We should get to sleep if we're rowing tomorrow," he pointed out, and both boys turned off the lamps, shuffling quietly up the steps to the second floor of the cottage.

They were up at dawn the next morning…or rather, Ethan was. He shook Peter shortly after struggling out of his sleeping bag, his legs having become tangled throughout the night.

"You have to see it," he gasped, once Peter cracked open an eye and tried to brush his friend off.

"See what?" he croaked, pulling the sleeping bag over his head. "Ethan, 's too early. No one else's even up yet. Go back to bed."

"The sun's rising," Ethan insisted. "Come on, Peter. You don't get to see sights like this often!"

Peter let out another groan of annoyance and revealed his face again. He kept the extra blanket over his shoulders as he stumbled across the room to the window, where Ethan stood waiting for him. He pointed towards the horizon, and Peter saw a golden glow that was slowly but surely rising.

"I've only seen the sunrise once," Ethan whispered, as Edmund gave a grunting snore. "With Dad."

Peter bit his lip, not sure if he should comment or not.

"'S nice," he replied. "How'd you sleep, anyway?" he flopped down on the floor again, hoping the rest of the family wouldn't be awake for a bit yet.

"Okay I guess," Ethan replied.

"Any…"

"No." Ethan already knew what Peter wanted to say before he said it, and the boys stared at each other. "I wish I knew what it all means, Peter," he whispered.

Edmund snored again, and both boys had to bite back snorts of laughter.

They attempted to go back to sleep for a bit, but were woken shortly after by Mr. Pevensie, who announced that breakfast was about to be served. Peter groaned inwardly, too warm and comfortable to get up.

"Dad," he protested, and finally forced himself awake. He noticed Ethan laying on his bed, already dressed, and reading one of his books. "How long have you been up?" he asked, and Ethan peered over at him.

"A half hour, maybe? You know, that sister of yours…Susan…is a funny one. She peeked in to see if you were awake, but the minute I came to the door, she squeaked and ran off, saying she had to help your Mum."

Peter laughed as he found his play clothes, knowing they were going to get fairly dirty rowing on the river. "She's shy sometimes," he replied, and Ethan gave him a skeptical glance as they headed downstairs, their stomachs growling as they took in the aroma of fresh bacon and eggs.

Sure enough, Susan nearly dropped the pitcher of orange juice she was carrying to the table when she caught sight of Ethan, but caught it in just enough time for some of the liquid to slosh over the side.

"Sorry?" he apologized and she opened her mouth to say it was fine, but nothing came out.

"Su, what's wrong?" Peter asked; usually his sister was always talking a million miles a minute when they were on holiday.

"Nothing," she muttered, kissing his cheek and setting the pitcher in the center of the table.

"So what are your plans for today?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, once they were all comfortably seated and helping themselves to the food.

"Well, Su, Ed, Ethan and I were planning on going rowing on the river for a while," Peter announced, and when Lucy started to protest, he said, "Lu, you're not going to be sticking with us every step of the way."

"That sounds like a good idea," Mr. Pevensie agreed. "Perhaps Lu and I could go for a bit of a hike, just you and I?"

Lucy still wore a slight pout over her brother's decision to take the others and not her, but she lit up at the thought of having a day with her Daddy.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, and Susan looked at her mother.

"You won't be too lonely by yourself, will you?" she asked, and Mrs. Pevensie chuckled warmly.

"Of course not," she promised. "I think a bit of time to myself is well deserved." She winked at her husband. "Wouldn't you think so, John?" she asked, and he lowered his newspaper.

"Of course, Helen," he replied, and the children laughed.

"Su, Ethan's going to be your rowing partner if that's all right," Peter announced, once breakfast was over, and the elder siblings led Ethan in the direction of the shed.

"Oh…" she breathed, and he touched her arm.

"You are acting funny," he said. "Su, Ethan won't bite you, honest."

"I know," she insisted. "I just…" she looked at Ethan who was trying to coax Edmund into a conversation, but was not getting anywhere fast. Once they drug both canoes out from the shed, the older boys took hold of the ropes and used all of their strength to drag the vessles in the direction of the river.

"Ed, you don't mind being stuck with me, do you?" Peter asked, and Edmund scowled deeper.

"Guess I don't have a choice, do I?" he asked, and Susan rolled her eyes.

"Will you stop being so impossible, Edmund?" she snapped, and he made a face.

They reached the river at last, and Susan laughed with delight as they drug their canoes down to the shore of the river. Ethan took Susan's hand and helped her step into the boat once they were ankle-deep in the water, and for a moment, their eyes met. But Peter's voice interrupted their moment. "Ed, you're tipping it," he snapped, as his younger brother stood towards the back, taking a bit long to sit down. "Ed, just sit down, will you?"

"Okay!" Edmund sat and watched as Peter climbed in, handing over one of the oars.

"You shouldn't have to row," Ethan told Susan, when she insisted she take an oar as well.

"I'm stronger than you think," she said, and Peter snorted.

"You'd better listen to her, Ethan," he said, and his friend obliged at last.

"Shall we have a race, perhaps?" Susan asked, as they rowed to the center of the river, watching as a flock of sparrows flew from one tree to the other.

"Well, let's not yet," Peter replied. "We have to get a feel for rowing first. It's been a while."

So they rowed normally for a good half an hour, enjoying the sound of nature and the lapping of the water against the sides of the boats. Susan, as she turned the oars over and over, couldn't help but continue to gaze at Ethan. He was a year and a half older than she was, but very handsome in deed. After a few moments of awkward silence, she splashed some water over at Peter, causing him to gasp in surprise.

"Oh, you think you're being funny, eh, Su?" he teased, splashing water back at her. Soon, a water fight erupted, as well as bursts of shrieks and laughter, and the boats tipped from side to side. Eventually they grew tired of this game, and were rather soaked to boot.

"We'll dry off pretty fast," Ethan said. "Say, let's go for a swim, shall we?"

"What…" Susan began, watching as he quickly removed his shirt, and plunged into the river with a whoop. Peter and Edmund watched in shock as Ethan eventually emerged from the cool water, shaking drops from his hair.

"Are you daft?" Peter called, and Ethan raised his arms innocently.

"I thought you'd come around," he replied, backstroking alongside the canoe.

"Come out of there," Peter ordered, and Ethan raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you can't swim!" he said, and Peter bit his lip.

"Of course I can. It's just, well…" he nodded to Susan. "Su doesn't have her bathing suit, and I'd hate to leave her out."

Susan stood shakily in the canoe, taking a deep breath. "Watch out!" she warned, and Ethan swam to the side while she plunged in next, amidst Peter and Edmund's shouts of protest. She shrieked as she broke the surface, her dress flowing outward like a mushroom.

"Come on, Peter!" she encouraged, after she managed to find her feet. "The water feels wonderful!"

Peter and Edmund stared at one another, not quite sure what to make of this insanity.

"What would Mum think," Peter muttered under his breath as he and Edmund eventually removed their own shirts and leapt in as well. They drug the canoes to shore so they wouldn't float off, and spent the next bit of the afternoon splashing about in the water in their clothes.

Eventually they all crawled out onto the bank of the river, laying flat on the grass and panting. "Oh," Susan breathed, sitting up. "That was fun!" she looked at Ethan, who lay on the otherside of Peter, his arms under his head. "Are we done rowing?" she asked, and Peter turned to her.

"Are we?" Peter turned to Ethan, who let out a yawn of response.

"Oh c'mon," Edmund groaned. "We've barely been out here for more than two hours! We have the whole day…and daylight's longer in the summer."

"Why don't we split up?" Peter asked. "Su and Ed, you two can go and explore…I really want to spend time with Ethan alone."

"What, are you two dating now?" Edmund snapped, and Susan touched his shoulder firmly.

"Shush," she warned, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"No, idiot," he snapped, as Ethan sat up.

"I actually want to go back to the house and change," Susan said smiling softly. "And spend time with Mum."

"You're boring!" Edmund groaned, and Peter grinned mischeviously.

"Well, you can tag along with us boor if you like," Peter teased, and he growled.

"No thanks," he retorted. "I'd rather drown myself." He turned on his heel and stalked after Susan.

"Then bring our canoe back to the cottage, will you?" Peter asked, and he did as he was told without another word. When Susan and Edmund were gone, The older boys flopped back onto the grass, soaking in the early afternoon sun.

"I told you we'd have fun, didn't I?" Ethan asked, turning over on his stomach. "Only…I might want to tell you something, Peter. Susan, well…she kind of er…makes me feel a little awkward."

Peter sat up, staring. "Sorry?"

"No, not like that!" Ethan insisted. "I really don't care for her that way. I mean, she's nice and all, but she's just…she's a girl."

Peter laughed, and raised his arms. "You were just telling me yesterday how much you wanted to meet the ladies!" he exclaimed, and Ethan folded his arms across his chest.

"When we get older, I mean! Girls your sister's age are just silly."

Peter snorted. "So what do you want to do for the next two days?" he asked, as they decided to try rowing together, not wanting to waste an ounce of daylight.

"Well," Ethan began, smiling, "I'd like to take one day at a time, you know? We can always find things to do. I can't wait until you come and visit me at the seashore…I'll have to take you exploring through all my caves. Only…well, we can't go unless Mum's home."

"Why?" Peter asked as they paused, allowing the gentle current to carry them for the moment.

"Because…she wants to be on the alert, I suppose," Ethan explained, rolling his eyes again. "Mum's bloody terrified I'll break my neck or something, and she won't be around when someone finds me."

Peter laughed. "Your Mum is worried about you, Ethan," he said. "Considering what happened last year with your Dad, she has a right to be, you know? But you mean…you cant leave the house when she's gone?"

Ethan sighed and shook his head. "She's normally not gone for more than a few hours at a time…our town's not that big. Honestly, though…she treats me like I'm three or something. I'm surprised she let me go away to boarding school! I suppose she wants to keep a tight leash on me when I'm around." He shrugged, dipping his oars into the water again. "But either way, we'll be all right. I can teach you how to juggle…it's a new trick I learned."

Peter grinned as he took up rowing, too, and the boys continued chatting the rest of their ride down the river.


	5. Chapter 5: A Rainy Afternoon

Chapter 5

_A Rainy Afternoon_

The next day, a storm arrived. Peter and Ethan were woken before dawn again, by loud cracks of thunder and flashes of lightening. Rain thundered against the windows, so the boys could barely see. "Blimey!" Ethan muttered under his breath, as the main door creaked open quietly.

"Peter?" a soft, female voice called, and Peter turned. Lucy stood watching him anxiously, chewing on her nail.

"Did the storm wake you up, Lu?" Peter asked, allowing her to come in. She hopped onto their mesh of sleeping bags, crawling between them both, and leaned against Peter.

"Yes," she whimpered, and he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. Lucy gasped in alarm as another crack of thunder shook the cottage, and she buried her face against Peter's chest.

"Looks like we won't be doing very much today, eh?" Ethan asked with a small smirk, and glanced over at Edmund, who hadn't woken up at all.

"Ed could sleep through an air raid," Peter explained, cuddling Lucy, and watching as more lightening flashed through the cloudy sky. "We should all go back to sleep, too. It's still pretty early," Peter announced, and Lucy let out a small yawn, sliding into her brother's bed roll. Ethan watched her with amusement, drawing his knees to his chest, and sighed.

The three of them eventually drifted off, and didn't wake again until Mr. Pevensie came to wake them for breakfast. When they stumbled out of the room, it was still raining heavily. The house was ridiculously humid, because they had to keep the windows closed, so appetites were rather thin.

"There are more than enough pancakes to go around," Mrs. Pevensie encouraged, and Susan merely picked at the food on her plate.

"Not very hungry, Mum," she muttered, and sighed. "It's too hot."

"This is probably the warmest summer we've seen in years," Mr. Pevensie agreed, and his statement received groans from the children. Even Ethan, who was usually the most talkative of the group, was rather quiet.

"I wish we could open a window," Lucy whined.

"If the wind weren't blowing so hard, we could," Mrs. Pevensie told her softly.

"The living room is probably the best place to gather," Peter suggested. "It's definitely much cooler…" he nudged Ethan's arm, noticing his friend's faraway expression.

"Unh?" Ethan grunted, blinking, and Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Are you here?" he asked, and Ethan shrugged.

"Well, eat what you can, and then you can go into the parlor," Mr. Pevensie told them. "Your mother put a lot of effort into breakfast this morning, and I won't have it go to waste."

The children tried their best to shovel down what they could, and, after Susan and Lucy helped with the dishes, they piled wearily into the parlor. Ethan flopped down on his back in the center of the rug, and propped his head up with his arms.

Edmund lay on the couch and tossed his rubber ball in the air, catching it as it came down again. "We could play jacks," Lucy suggested, as her eyes focused on the ball bouncing against the ceiling with thuds.

Susan sat on one of the cushioned chairs by the great window, practicing her needlepoint. She yelled loudly as she pricked herself with the needle, and immediately stuck her finger in her mouth.

"All right?" Ethan asked, hoisting himself up, and she nodded, frowning as she saw a speck of blood come out of the microscopic wound.

"Yes," she insisted, tossing the needlepoint aside.

"Ed, that is getting a tad annoying," Peter growled, as he listened to the thud of the rubber ball against the wall. Edmund ignored his comment and continued his game; the only sign of acknowledgement was the tightening of his lips.

"Edmund, stop it," Suasn ordered.

"Who do you think you are, Su? Mum?" Edmund growled, and tossed the ball so forcefully that it shot around the room, missing the tops of their heads by a mere inch. Ethan and Peter dove for cover as it came for them, and Lucy screamed as it flew past her cheek. It slammed against the bookshelf, causing several small books to fall to the floor with a deafening SMACK. Everyone stood staring at the result of Edmund's throw, and they turned as one to glare at him.

"That was unnecessary!" Susan hissed. "Edmund, you could have hurt somebody!"

"Or poked an eye out," Lucy added, putting her hands on her hips.

"You pull something like that again, Ed, and I'm going straight to Dad," Peter snapped, and Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Sorry!" he growled, and Peter shook his head. He had no idea what he was going to do with Edmund, who seemed to be growing more rebellious by the day.

"Anyway, do any of you have an idea for a game we could play?" Peter asked, and glanced at Ethan, who had the distant look on his face again. He was gazing out the window, his eyes focused on the sheets of rain. "Are you really all right?" he asked, and Lucy plopped down onto the floor in front of them.

"Let's play patty cake," she offered, holding her hands out to him.

"Lu, don't bother him like that," Peter warned. "Do you want to talk?" he added, and Ethan glanced at him.

"What?" he asked, and Peter raised an eyebrow with concern. "Sorry…Peter, I kind of…d'you mind if I take some time to myself, mate?"

Susan raised her eyes with worry as Peter nodded, and pointed towards the doorway. "Sure…you can use Ed and I's room. No one should be in there. Are you sure you don't need…"

"I'm okay," Ethan promised, giving him a half smile. "I just…I just need to think about things, 's all."

"What things?" Peter stood, and Susan did, too.

"Peter, let him go," she said, and Ethan gave her a grateful expression before heading off. They heard as his footsteps made their way to the upper floor of the cottage, and silence, except for the sound of the rain, filled the air. Lucy bit her lip after Ethan was out of earshot, and took Peter's hand.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked, and Peter looked at her.

"Peter, what's going on?" Susan added, and Edmund sat up, his interest spiked somewhat.

"His dad died at the beginning of last year," Peter explained, and there was a collective gasp amongst the girls. "He'll be really cheerful one minute, and very depressed the next. When I first met him, he kind of kept to himself…didn't really mingle with anybody else."

"That's so sad!" Susan said softly. "How did his father die?"

"Trolly accident," Peter explained, and Lucy covered her mouth with her hands.

"D'you think he's homesick?" Susan asked.

"No," Peter replied. "I mean, he went to boarding school, didn't he? You'd think he'd be fine with being away from home for a time. And he has us to keep him company."

"I know, but…we're strangers," Susan explained. "At least, the rest of us are."

Peter blew out his breath, pulling Lucy onto his lap. She cuddled against him and stared downward, picking at a fray in her skirt. Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie eventually peeked in on the children to make sure everything was all right.

"Yes Mum," Peter replied, and when she inquired where Ethan was, he told her his friend was up in his room resting.

"Is he feeling all right?" she asked, and Peter nodded.

"Yeah. He's just…I dunno, it's probably the rain."

"Should I go and check on him, dear?" Mrs. Pevensie came over and passed out ice cold glasses of lemonade for all of them, and Peter shook his head frantically.

"Oh don't," he begged. "It'll embarrass him, Mum."

She chuckled. "All right, dear. Your father and I are in the kitchen if you need us." She swept out of the room, and Susan blew out her breath, glancing at the needlepoint she'd tossed to the side of the room.

"You should go and make sure he's okay, Peter," Susan suggested, after a few moments of awkward silence. "I mean, he's only here for one more day, and you don't want him to be all depressed."

Peter sighed and nodded, encouraging Lucy to get off of his lap. She watched as he picked himself up off the floor, and the three remaining Pevensie siblings watched as he left to head upstairs.

Peter eventually entered his bedroom to find Ethan laying with his face buried in his friend's pillow, his legs spread out.

"Taking a nap, are we?" Peter asked, and Ethan raised his head.

"Sorry," he apologized, and Peter sat down on his desk chair.

"What's going on, Ethan?" Peter asked, once his friend was sitting up. "You just kind of disappeared."

Ethan shrugged. "Dunno," he admitted.

"Homesick?"

Ethan smirked. "Me?" he asked. "Of course not, don't be stupid."

"Well, what then? You worry me when you do this, you know."

Ethan shrugged. "I dunno," he replied. "I guess…just seeing everybody here together, well…makes me really miss Dad. It's one thing if we're all outside running around and my mind's off of it, but I just have to sit here and stare at all of you while it's raining, and you're really lucky, Peter. You have no idea how lucky you are." He turned away, and Peter bit his lip, feeling a little guilty. He often thought about what it would be like to be in Ethan's position as an only child, not to have to worry about setting examples for the younger children all the time.

While Ethan had his back turned, Peter grinned secretly to himself, and did a handstand, leaning against the desk for support. "The rain'll stop soon, and we'll be able to go outside," he said, and Ethan started to respond hopefully, but stopped short.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted, when he saw Peter grinning at him upside down.

"What?" Peter asked innocently, and Ethan began laughing at last. "Aren't you getting a bit of a rush, mate?"

Peter tumbled backwards and blinked, holding a hand to his forehead. "Yes," he replied. "See? I knew I could make you laugh. You're not the only one with tricks up your sleeve."

Ethan stuck out his tongue. "Sorry, Peter," he apologized.

"That's all right." Peter smiled. "I'm sure you still miss your Dad…it hasn't really been all that long."

Ethan shook his head. "I can't wait until you can come and visit me at the seashore," he said. "It's much easier to stay cool when you have the ocean to swim around in."

Peter laughed. "I'll bet." He climbed back onto his chair, and jumped when he heard the door squeaking. "Lucy," he groaned, and his youngest sister's head peeped through.

"I wasn't spyin', honest," she insisted, and he grinned.

"I thought girls thought we had cooties," Ethan teased as she skipped in.

"Only Edmund has cooties," Lucy giggled, and both boys had to laugh at her comment.

"I actually have something for you," Ethan told her quietly, and Peter raised his eyes, surprised.

"Oooh, what?" Lucy asked, watching as the older boy went to rummage through his suitcase. She turned to Peter grinning with excitement, and he shrugged, not knowing what Ethan was coming from.

"Well, maybe Peter can read these to you for a bed time story some night. I've read them more than once, and I think you would enjoy them." He handed her a very thick book, which, when she took it and read the title closely, said: "Grimm's Fairytales." She looked at him.

"Ethan, that's…don't," Peter started. "I never saw you without that book."

"I think she should have it, really," Ethan replied.

"Thank you very much," Lucy breathed, and he nodded.

"Sure."

Peter frowned deeply. "Keep that safe, Lu," he warned, and she nodded. After pecking a quick kiss on Ethan's cheek, she went to put the book safely away in her room. When she was gone, Peter turned to him, staring.

"That really was very nice, Ethan, but…"

"Nevermind, Peter," Ethan injected. "C'mon, let's go downstairs. I'm sure the others'll be wondering what happened to us."

Peter watched as Ethan went out of his bedroom before him.

The rest of the afternoon remained uneventful, and the children tried to amuse themselves as best as they could in the dreadful heat. Ethan and Susan played checkers, while Peter and Lucy read together on the couch. Lucy demanded that Peter tell her the "Snow White" story, much to Ethan's amusement, and he was so busy watching the two together that he didn't even notice when Susan kinged him twice.

"You're not even trying," she laughed, and he looked at her.

"New game?" he asked, and Edmund, who'd been sitting off to the side again by the window, perked up.

"Rain's stopping," he announced, and a loud cheer erupted from the group.

"I _must_ get outside!" Lucy groaned, and, after begging Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie, they were allowed to do so.

"Be careful," Mrs. Pevensie called. "Stay by the cottage, please!"

"Look!" Lucy gasped, pointing ahead by the deep slope in the valley. "A rainbow!"

The five children stood in a row by the fence that divided their land from the free country beyond, and Susan breathed inward with delight.

"Ethan, d'you think there's really a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?" Lucy asked, after a few moments of silence, and he turned to her.

"I think anything's possible," he replied, and she beamed.

"Well,_ I_ think so," she continued. "And I think a whole family of leprechauns live there."

Edmund snorted. "I think you're daft," he teased, and Lucy stuck out her tongue.

"I am not!" she snapped, and Peter groaned.

"Enough, you two," he warned, and Ethan suddenly tagged his arm. "You're it!" he yelled, and dashed away, laughing. Susan and Peter stared at one another, and then after their howling guest.

"Come on, lazy bones!" Ethan called from a distance, and made a face.

Peter growled, and took off. "You just wait," he replied, and the girls and Ed smirked as the two best friends took off across the field.

"Can't catch me, can't catch me!" Ethan called, and Susan giggled at Peter's breathless, "Can too!"

"Come on, Lu, let's go and pick some blueberries," Susan suggested.

"Left out again as usual," Edmund growled, and Susan looked at him.

"You don't exactly make an effort to join in, you know," she retorted, as she watched Peter tackle Ethan to the ground, and as the two engaged in a playful wrestling match.

"Nevermind," Edmund growled. "Going inside." He shuffled off, and the girls glanced at each other, rolling their eyes.

"Coming, Lu?" Susan asked, and Lucy nodded eagerly.


	6. Chapter 6: Because I say it's so

Chapter 6

_Because I say it's so_

Thankfully, the weather cleared up the following morning, and the temperature dropped slightly as a result of the heavy rainfall. Ethan and Peter went off alone together right after breakfast, determined to make the best of what little time they had left. Susan watched as the boys ran across the lawn and towards the woods, and sighed.

"I don't want him to leave tomorrow," Lucy broke in, and Susan looked at her.

"What?" she asked, and Lucy folded her arms across her chest.

"I don't want Ethan to go," she repeated, and Susan smiled.

"I don't either," she admitted. "But his Mum is probably real lonely by herself. You know how our Mum would feel if all of us went away and left her."

Lucy frowned, and then nodded in agreement. She liked Peter's friend even more than she'd initially expected—he wasn't like other boys, that was for certain. Other boys his age would take delight in pushing her down whenever they got the chance, but Ethan took to her like another sibling.

"Su, will you read to me, please?" she asked, holding up the copy of Grimm's Fairytales, knowing that Peter wouldn't be back to the cottage for a good while. Susan smiled and encouraged Lucy to join her on the couch, and the two began to read quietly.

"_Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?_ _You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But Little Snow-White beyond the seven mountains, is a thousand times fairer than you._"

Meanwhile, Peter and Ethan arrived at the willow tree grove. They climbed into one of the trees, and Ethan leaned against the trunk, stretching his legs longways on the branch. Peter sat with his own legs dangling, his hair slightly tousseled from the wind.

"Can't believe I'm going back home tomorrow," Ethan muttered, chiseling a piece of wood with his pocketknife.

"Me either," Peter replied, blowing out his breath. "And it'll be ages before I can come and see you at the seashore."

Ethan glanced over his shoulder at him. "Well, maybe I can convince Mum to let you come next week instead of at the end," he suggested, and Peter snorted.

"Good luck with that," he replied.

"Wouldn't your parents let you come?" Ethan asked, and Peter smiled.

"I'm sure they would, but…"

"Well, I'll ask. But I am going to miss being around your family, Peter. Even that crazy sister of yours."

Peter laughed. "Which?" he winked. "Lucy or Susan?"

Ethan hung upside down from the trunk at this point, and Peter did the same. "Lucy's a right pip, mate. With an imagination like hers, I wouldn't be surprised if she became a writer or something."

Peter beamed with pride; he loved hearing others compliment his little sister. "I practically adopted her when she was born, you know," he said, and Ethan raised an eyebrow. "As soon as I held her, she grabbed hold of my ear and wouldn't let go…and she would only stop crying when I'd cuddle her. I think it disturbed Mum a bit, to be honest."

It was Ethan's turn to laugh—the closeness between Peter and Lucy was certainly something. Of course, he didn't have any siblings of his own, so he had nothing to compare their relationship with.

"She's real special, Peter," he agreed, and Peter's stomach growled so loudly, that both boys snorted.

"We can pick some peaches or apples in the orchard," Peter suggested, and Ethan grinned.

"That sounds good. Come on, then." He hopped to the grass, and waited until Peter caught up, before starting to walk again. They'd barely gone about ten feet when Ethan stopped short, and Peter nearly tripped over him.

"What?" Peter asked, and Ethan stared.

"No," Ethan whispered. "I just…did you ever have a feeling like you've…been in an exact spot somewhere before?"

Peter blinked. "What?" he asked, and Ethan shook his head.

"Nevermind, that's just crazy. Sorry," he apologized, and Peter put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"What are you going on about?" he asked, and Ethan plopped down onto the grass, gazing ahead at the endless land. "Dreaming again last night, were you?" he asked, and Ethan stared at him. "Do they scare you?"

Ethan shook his head. "That's just it," he replied. "they should…I'm always alone, in wide open spaces just like this. And I feel like someone is watching me; about to come out at any moment, but I always wake up when I hear a rustling in the bushes behind me or something. But I'm not scared…excited, is more like it, you know?"

Peter wet his lips, wondering if his friend were truly loosing his mind. After all, Ethan had suffered grief beyond what anyone at twelve years old should have to deal with. Or anyone at all, he thought, for that matter. "It'll be all right in time I'm sure," Peter promised, and Ethan looked at him.

"I…" he paused. "I don't want the dreams to stop, Peter."

"But…"

"I like them. They're…strange, but I like them, Peter."

"Well…maybe you'll get to see what's in the bushes," Peter chuckled, and Ethan grinned.

"It'll probably be you, and then I'll box your ears," he said, and Peter gave his friend a playful punch on the arm.

"Come on," he encouraged. "Let's go and get those peaches, before I end up eating one of your fingers." He hopped up, and Ethan rolled his eyes.

"You're always hungry," he teased. "hungry or wanting tea."

"Who says?" Peter demanded, as they entered the miniature orchard, the sweet smell of the fruit overwhelming them both.

"Because I say it it's so," Ethan retorted, and snatched a peach from one of the nearby trees.

"You always say it's so," Peter snickered as he bit into one, and watched as a flock of sparrows flew overhead.

"Because I'm always right," Ethan teased, and Peter tossed a piece of fruit at his friend, whacking him lightly in the chest. Ethan's mouth opened with surprise, and he narrowed his eyes, grinning mischeviously. "You're asking for it, Peter Pevensie!" he warned, and Peter stuck out his tongue.

"What are you going to do, then?" Peter instigated.

Ethan took a good chunk of soft, wet peach and tossed it at his friend, hitting Peter directly on the cheek.

"Ugh!" Peter cried, and Ethan pointed, laughing.

"Ha!" He ducked as Peter aimed another missle, and before they knew it, pieces of peach flew every which way. When they grew tired of this game, they gathered several fresh peaches, and sat in the middle of the orchard to eat them.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Peter?" Ethan asked, after he'd gotten a fair way through his treat.

"A teacher, I think," Peter replied. "Or something with books. I'm not very good at writing, but I think being a teacher would be a good job. How 'bout you?"

"A doctor," Ethan replied. "Like Dad. Mum's already schooling me on what she can…I know how to treat lots of illnesses and injuries."

"Yes, you would make a good doctor," Peter agreed, grinning, as he spread out on his back in the grass. "Ethan…we'll always be best friends, right? No matter what?"

Ethan rolled over onto his stomach, and leaned his chin on his arms.

"Yes, 'course we will. Till we're old and wrinkled!"

"And have to walk around with a cane," Peter added.

"Thanks for inviting me to stay with you, Peter," Ethan told him, as they made their way back to the cottage around suppertime that evening. They were both flushed from the sun and feeling quite content with themselves, though famished of course.

"You'll have to come back and stay here every summer," Peter suggested, as they walked into the house, where they could smell the roast chicken and potatoes that Mrs. Pevensie was preparing. Susan's voice could be heard over the clatter of silverwear and plates, as Lucy and Edmund set the table.

"It's about time you two got back," Mr. Pevensie said with a laugh, and he ruffled both of their hair. "Mum's prepared a bit of a surprise for dessert tonight…for Ethan's last day with us," he added, and everyone breathed, "Ooooooh!" in response.

Susan sat beside Ethan as usual, and chattered with him happily as they ate through several helpings. Even Edmund seemed to be in a better mood that night, though what that meant, was a mere smile or a snort of laughter when someone would talk to him.

After supper, Mrs. Pevensie pulled a fresh chocolate cake out of the oven, and served it with scoops of vanilla ice cream.

"Thank you," Ethan told her, beaming, and she nodded.

"It was a pleasure to have you here, my dear," she replied, as she sipped from her nightly cup of coffee. "You are welcome anytime."

"Might he come next summer, too?" Peter asked, and Ethan licked his lips after taking a spoonful of ice cream.

"If his mother will allow it, I don't see why not," Mr. Pevensie replied, and both friends beamed at one another.

"Next summer we'll have to build a fairy house!" Lucy told Ethan, who nearly choked into his cup of tea.

"A what?" he asked, and she looked at him.

"I've been thinking that I haven't seen a real fairy yet, but I know they have to be real. They just have to be." She looked at Peter, who was trying not to laugh, and then turned to Ethan. "I thought that a house might make them want to come."

Ethan looked at her. "I would like to do that, Lucy. Maybe your project over the next year could be to draw what you think the house should look like, and next summer, we'll see what we can put together to make one."

Peter and Susan shared knowing smiles, and Lucy bounced up and down in her seat eagerly.

After supper, the family gathered in the parlor, and Lucy demanded once again that a fairytale be read from the Grimm's Fairytale Book.

"She's addicted to it," Peter whispered, as Mr. Pevensie read from "Little Red Riding Hood", changing his voice to fit the different characters.

"…_but when Little Red Riding Hood noticed some lovely flowers in the woods, she forgot her promise to her mother. She picked a few, watched the butterflies flit about for awhile, listened to the frogs croaking and then picked a few more. _

_Little Red Riding Hood was enjoying the warm summer day so much, that she didn't notice a dark shadow approaching out of the forest behind her…_"

When it was time for bed at last, Ethan and Peter sat up past light's out, whispering in quiet voices as not to disturb Edmund. They did not fall asleep until the early hours of morning, which crept upon them much too quickly.

It was around mid-afternoon when Mrs. Hunt arrived to pick up Ethan, and the entire Pevensie family stood outside to see him off. Even Edmund had been forced to come out, and stood with reluctance on the doorstep.

"You will have to come and see us again soon," Mrs. Pevensie told Ethan, after hugging him and kissing him on the cheek. "You've been just like one of the family."

Ethan beamed, and turned to Peter, who had his arms clasped behind his back.

"I'll be seeing you soon, then, mate?" he asked, once the two best friends exchanged hugs as well.

"I hope so," Peter replied, smiling, and Ethan glanced at Susan.

"You'll remember the fairy house, won't you?" Lucy asked, after Ethan said goodbye to her, and he laughed.

"Yes, of course. Goodbye, Lucy. Goodbye, Susan," he added, and Susan's cheeks turned deep crimson, just as they had when he first came to stay with them. She merely smiled and shook his hand shyly, and then, after saying goodbye to Edmund, he followed his mother to the car.

Peter watched as they drove away into the distance, and felt his father place a firm hand on his shoulder.

"He's a good boy, Peter," he said, and Peter felt Lucy take his hand.

"Yes, he is," he had to agree.


	7. Chapter 7: Home and Gone Again

Chapter 7

_Home and Gone Again_

As it was with any holiday, it always felt so wonderful to return to London again. Aunt Anna greeted them with their two dogs, Murphy and Ginger—a basset hound and a golden lab. The animals leapt onto their owners the moment they walked through the door, barking and trying to lick the faces of the children as they came in.

"Hello, my dears," Aunt Anna hugged all of them. "How was your trip?"

Helen Pevensie smiled at her sister, and watched as Peter helped his father carry the luggage.

"Oh, very well deserved, Anna, thank you," she replied, lifting Murphy into her arms and cuddling him. "I hope our dogs were well behaved?"

Anna chuckled. "Of course they were. Missed you dreadfully, I must say, and it became a bit of a trial to get them to eat at night. But, they're just fine." She gave the basset a pat on the head, and then went to follow Lucy, who begged her Auntie to "look at what I got!" and held up the book of fairytales.

Peter carried his suitcase up to his bedroom, glad to have a bit of private time to himself. He didn't bother unpacking yet, but listened to his family as they talked excitedly downstairs. He missed Ethan already, and was glad he could take his mind off of his father, if for a few days. Still, there was a strange feeling in the back of his mind…as though something big were about to happen, but he couldn't figure out what.

Those dreams, first of all…they certainly weren't normal. Could they have some deeper meaning? What in heavens name was that creature lurking in the shadows? Peter shuddered, feeling very cold all of a sudden.

"You're just overreacting," he told himself as he popped open his suitcase, pulling his dirty clothes out.

"Peter?"

He jumped when he heard a voice behind him, and turned to see Lucy peering through the open door.

"Oh," he breathed. "Hullo, Lu. Has Auntie been pinching your cheeks again?"

Lucy giggled, and skipped into the room, hopping onto the edge of the bed. "No," she replied, still holding onto the book. "Feels a bit strange to be home, doesn't it, Peter?" she asked, and he smiled, separating a clean shirt from one covered in dirt and grime.

"Yes, I say it does," he agreed, and she suddenly clasped her arms around his waist, burying her face against his stomach. "Lu, what's wrong?" he asked, and hoisted her up, startled by this sudden burst of affection. Well, not entirely startled—Lucy was always hugging or cuddling him at random intervals.

"You'll always be here, won't you, Peter?" she asked, staring into his eyes, her own very wide. "I mean, you'll always be my big brother, right?"

Peter laughed. "Of course, you goose. Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, ruffling her hair.

"I dunno. I was just thinking about what happened to Ethan's Daddy, and well…anybody could die, you know?" her eyes were overly large again, and Peter smiled softly.

"That's true," he replied softly, wishing he hadn't told her or Susan about Ethan's father. Lucy's imagination had a tendency to go on overload, and she frightened herself at times. "But try not to think about it, all right?" he tapped her nose, and she giggled, making a face.

"You're silly, Peter," she said, and he set her down.

"I think you might be sillier," he teased back, and she poked him in the stomach.

"Come on, Mum's setting out milk and cookies. Murphy might eat them all if we don't get there fast!"

They could hear Murphy's distinct bark from the parlor, and Peter nodded.

"Come on, then," he said. "I'm pretty much done unpacking anyway." He took her hand, and led her out of the room.

Over the next two weeks, Peter and his siblings passed the long, hot days amusing themselves around the city. Peter read four books all the way through; having borrowed them from the library or from his father's publishing company. He was allowed to tour the publishing house at least once, and his father's co-workers simply adored him.

"We'll reserve a spot for the lad when he grows up," one of the middle-aged men told Mr. Pevensie, who laughed heartily at the suggestion.

It wasn't until the beginning of July, however, that Peter received a phone call from Ethan. "Sorry I haven't been able to contact you sooner," his friend's breathless voice told him over the receiver, "but there's been a lot of sickness going around—we think it's 'cause of the real hot weather. But Mum said you could come next week if you wanted," he suggested, and Peter's heart gave a leap of excitement. He couldn't wait to go to the seashore, much to the jealousy of his brother and sisters.

"I'll ask," Peter replied, and set the phone down. He ran to find his mother, who was outside watering plants in their miniature garden. "Mum? Ethan's on the phone," he said, and Mrs. Pevensie looked up. "He asked if I might be able to come and visit him at the seashore on Monday."

She smiled as she used the last of the water pitcher's contents, and set it aside. "Of course, dear. Is his mother at home? I would like to discuss details with her." She followed her eldest son inside, passing Edmund, who was rolling about with Ginger on the floor. Murphy sat wagging his short tail back and forth, an ear pricking when the pair tumbled past.

"Murphy! Here boy!" Lucy clucked her tongue, and the basset turned towards her, giving a yip when he saw she had a doggy treat. He instantly trotted over and sucked up the miniature bone, allowing her to scratch behind his ears. Lucy watched as her mother picked up the phone, and listened to the conversation between her and Mrs. Hunt.

When Mrs. Pevensie got off the phone, she turned to Peter. "Well, the arrangements are made, dear," she said, and Peter sighed with relief. "Daddy will bring you to the Hunts on Tuesday, and you'll stay there until the following Tuesday."

It was now Sunday, and Peter wasn't certain how he would last an entire day.

"Thanks, Mum!" he cried, and Lucy gave a pout.

"I wish I could go!" she exclaimed, and he turned, smiling softly.

"Maybe another time, Lu," he replied, as she went back to playing with the dog.

As it was, Peter spent most of Sunday with Lucy, playing cricket with her in the city park. Susan and Edmund went swimming while they did this, though on Monday, all four of the Pevensie children spent time together.

"It's going to be strange without you for a week," Susan admitted, as they sat on their doorstep Monday evening, watching passerby's on the street.

"Well, it'll be over before you know it," Peter insisted, and she tried to look cheerful. "I mean, honestly—we've all been apart from each other while we were at school," he pointed out, and she nodded in agreement.

"That's true," she replied. "But you know…that was different."

"It's going to be fine, Su," Peter promised. "Though I can't believe its July already. Summer's really flying past, isn't it?"

His siblings agreed, nodding gloomily.

The next day, Mr. Pevensie helped Peter put his things into the back of their car, and watched as Mrs. Pevensie hugged and kissed her son all over his face.

"Mum, please," Peter begged, thoroughly embarrassed.

"Take care of yourself, Peter, and make sure you listen to Mrs. Hunt," Mrs. Pevensie told him sternly. "She has quite enough on her hands I am sure, without you two causing a ruckus."

Peter smiled. "Mum, I promise I'll be good," he said as he climbed into the car.

"No, Peter, don't go!" Lucy sobbed, running to the car and grabbing her brother's hand through the window anxiously. "Please don't go!"

"Lucy, he'll come back," Susan promised.

"You'll be a big girl, won't you, Lu?" Peter asked, and she bit back more tears.

"Come on, Lucy," Susan encouraged, picking up the six year old child, and carrying her back to the front door.

At last, Mr. Pevensie started the engine, and the remaining three children watched as their older brother waved from the back window, soon to disappear around the corner.

The drive to the seashore took a little longer than the drive to the cottage, and Peter tried very hard to remain awake for it. He was instantly energized, however, when he could smell the ocean from a distance, and heard seagulls cawing overhead as they approached.

It wasn't nearly as hot here, and Peter took a long breath of the salty air.

"Well here we are," Mr. Pevensie announced, as they pulled up to a large, stone house. It was a quaint little place, with an enormous garden surrounding it, filled with flowers of all varieties. There were three stories instead of the Pevensie cottage's two, and a miniature tower at the top. "Not too shabby, eh?"

Peter grinned with delight as they pulled down the stone driveway, chasing a horde of ducks out of their path.

"I'd say not," he replied, when they pulled to a stop, and Peter sat still for a moment, trying to take everything in.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Pevensie asked, noticing how quiet his son had become, and Peter looked at him.

"Yes," he insisted, before opening the door and stepping out. He could hear the roar of the waves as they crashed against the rocky shore below the Hunt's property, and stood, mesmerized by it for a second.

"Peter!"

Peter jumped, and saw Ethan's head pop out from one of the lower windows of the great house.

"Come on, get your things," Mr. Pevensie encouraged, and Peter took his suitcase from the backseat of the car. The two made their way to the house, and Ethan pulled the door wide open.

"I thought you'd never get here," he exclaimed, and Mrs. Hunt approached from behind her son, wiping her hands on a powder-covered apron.

"I apologize…been baking all morning," she laughed, extending her hand, roughened by years of hard work. Mr. Pevensie shook it firmly, and she invited him in for a cup of tea.

"No, thank you," he replied. "I'd best be getting back to the family. Peter, you will let us know if you need anything, won't you, son?" he asked, and Peter nodded, allowing his father to hug and kiss the top of his head.

"Yes, Dad," he replied.

"He'll be well looked after," Mrs. Hunt promised, her voice carrying a stronger Irish accent rather than a British one.

"Thank you for having him," Mr. Pevensie replied, tipping his hat. "Peter, be a good boy," he added, and, before Peter got a chance to say goodbye, Ethan had grabbed him by the arm and drug him towards the staircase.

"Come on," he encouraged. "You'll be staying in the guest room, which is across the hall from mine."

They heard the adults exchange final goodbyes, and the door shut.

"Make sure Peter is settled before you go out to play," Mrs. Hunt called, and Ethan glanced over his shoulder.

"Yes, Mum," he replied, and pointed to a spacious bedroom, with light yellow wallpaper. "Here you are. You can kind of see the ocean from this window," he added, going to peer through it, and Peter set his suitcase on the bed.

"Don't fall out," Peter teased, as he went to join his friend at the sill. His room looked over the western side of the garden, and he could see a bit of the coastline if he stuck his head out far enough. "Your Mum likes flowers," he said, and Ethan nodded.

"She started the garden the day we moved here," he began. "she and Daddy came over from Ireland the year before I was born. Dad was stationed there, you see."

Peter nodded in understanding, and glanced at the large, double-bed he was to sleep in. It was definitely larger than his bed at home, and the mattress was soft and comfortable when he sat on it.

"How are your brother and sisters?" Ethan asked, as he helped Peter unpack, telling him it was all right to put his clothing into the small chest of drawers by the side of the wall. There was a desk in the corner by the window, with a pitcher and a candle wick.

"Good," Peter replied. "Lucy really didn't want me to go, though," he admitted, as he followed Ethan into his bedroom. Ethan's room was naturally larger than the guest room, though not by very much. One thing Peter noticed immediately was the heavy religious tone; Ethan had relics of all sizes and shapes either hanging or sitting on whatever surface space was available. Above his bed hung a large portrait of Jesus, which almost seemed to make the room have a peaceful feel altogether.

"I would never have known you weren't practicing for the priesthood," Peter teased, and Ethan smirked.

"Funny," he replied, opening up his desk drawer, and pulling out a medium-sized picture frame. "This is my Dad," he added, and handed it over. Peter stared at it—it was his father dressed in a navy uniform.

"He fought in the First World War, you see," Ethan explained.

"Oh."

"He and Mum met right at the end of 1919, and didn't marry until he came home in 1921. They traveled all over, and decided to finally settle down in England, which is where Dad was from. He grew up in Glochestershire."

Peter frowned. "Why do you have his picture in the drawer?" he asked. If it were his case, he would have had his father's picture sitting where he could see it.

Ethan shrugged. "I dunno. I'm tired of feeling sad all the time, Peter. I thought…if I didn't see his face, I might…you know."

"Surely you don't want to forget him," Peter said, and Ethan shook his head.

"No, not like that. But I wouldn't think of him so often."

Peter wet his lips. "Well, maybe…this is a thought, mate, but…p'raps if you put his picture beside your bed, you'd stop having those weird dreams. Did you ever think of that?"

Ethan stared at him.

"Boys?" Mrs. Hunt called from downstairs. "I have some fresh apple cobbler on the table for you! Come and eat it while it's still fresh!"

Ethan blew out his breath, and took the picture away, putting it back into the drawer. "Come on," he said, and led the way downstairs.

They sat down at the round kitchen table, and Peter's stomach gave a growl at the scent of the apple cobbler.

"Is the guest room fit for your liking, dear?" she asked, after pouring a cup of tea for Peter and handing it to him. He took a small sip, and nodded.

"It's fine, thank you," he replied.

"Well, make yourself at home." She gave him a small pat on the head, before starting the process of cleaning the leftover dishes. As Peter worked through his piece of cobbler, he listened to Mrs. Hunt as she hummed an old Irish lullaby.

"So what are your plans for today?" Mrs. Hunt asked, as she put the clean dishes away.

"May we go swimming?" Ethan asked, in between bites.

"I don't see why not." She smiled at him. "I don't think I'll be called on again today." She looked at Peter. "Ethan did tell you what it is that I do, didn't he?" she asked, and he nodded.

"You're a midwife," he replied, and she nodded.

"Yes. I am often sent out by our doctor to be of assistance, or if he is in another town, which is often, I take over. Now there is one rule, dear, and I think it is very important. Whenever I am out on rounds, I must ask the both of you not to leave the house."

Ethan and Peter exchanged glances—he remembered Ethan telling him this.

"Mum, surely, if Peter's here, I won't get into any trouble," Ethan whined, and Peter smirked.

"No, Ethan. You remember what I told you."

Ethan sighed. "Yes." He finished the last of his cobbler, and went to put the dish in the sink. "C'mon, Peter…get your swimming trunks on, and we'll go to the ocean!"

Peter smiled at Mrs. Hunt as he put his dish in the sink, and then followed his friend upstairs.

"What did your Mum tell you?" Peter whispered, as they prepared to separate into their rooms.

"I told you there's been a lot of…well, epidemics, this summer, didn't I?" Ethan asked, and Peter nodded. "Well, Mum's afraid that anyone who we come in contact with in the town might be contaminated."

"Oh really!" Peter exclaimed. "She can't expect you to live like a hermit!"

"We don't," Ethan promised.

"But she's keeping you shut up like a dog in a cage!" Peter told him. "I couldn't stand it."

"Well, if you knew what was going around, Peter, you might feel differently. I mean, yesterday, Mum says the measles are making rounds, and she took care of three families yesterday. She wouldn't let me come down until she'd completely bathed, and even after that, she kept her distance."

Peter blew out his breath, glad he hadn't told his mother about any of this. If he had, no doubt she wouldn't have let him come. "Well…" he shrugged. "I'm sure we'll be all right. But I guess we'd better do as your Mum says."

Ethan nodded. "Yeah. I told you, it's not fun and games here, but when Mum's at home, we can do what we like. So hurry up, then!"

They disappeared into their rooms, and changed into their bathing trunks, before dashing out the front door.


	8. Chapter 8: The Beginning of the End

Chapter 8

_The Beginning of the End_

Peter and Ethan spent three glorious days of pure freedom, enjoying the cool, refreshing sea water and eating their lunches on the sand. On the fourth morning, however, Mrs. Hunt woke boke boys around seven, telling Ethan to lock the door as soon as she left.

"Not again, Mum," Ethan groaned, and Mrs. Hunt sighed.

"Whassamatter?" Peter asked, stumbling out of his room, and yawning tiredly.

"Mum's been called," Ethan told him, and Peter's eyes widened.

"Oh…" he felt his heart sink with disappointment. That probably meant that they would be shut up in the house all day, and it was growing very humid already. Peter watched as Mrs. Hunt gathered her medical supplies, and, after blowing kisses to each of them, dashed out the front door as fast as she could. Ethan hurried down the steps in his bare feet, and quickly locked the door after her.

He took a deep breath and leaned his back against it, watching as Peter entered the kitchen.

"I didn't even hear anybody come," he said, and Ethan smirked.

"That's because we were dead to the world, mate." He sighed, and shrugged. "Well, I suppose we could always go back to sleep for a while…it's still early."

Peter yawned again, and folded his arms. "Sounds good," he croaked, and they stumbled back to their beds.

When the awoke three hours later, Ethan's mother still hadn't returned. The house was strangely quiet, which was probably due to the fact that the windows were closed downstairs. Ethan had no animals, either, and Peter was used to hearing his dogs whining and barking all day. Or his siblings making a racket as they tormented each other day in and day out.

"What are we going to do?" Peter asked, flopping down onto the couch in the living room, after he and Ethan dressed for the day.

"Well, we can make breakfast, and play cards?" he suggested.

"Can't we open a window?" Peter asked, tugging on the collar of his shirt, which felt as though it were choking him. He was beginning to feel rather disagreeable, to be honest.

"No," Ethan replied, as he pulled out a loaf of freshly baked rasin bread and a pitcher of orange juice. "No one is supposed to know we're home."

"They won't know either way if a window is open," Peter said, as he gulped down his juice gratefully. "People leave windows open all the time when they go out. How d'you think…"

"Peter, it's the rules, all right?" Ethan snapped, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth. "I don't make them."

Peter sighed. "Sorry," he apologized. "Heat makes me cranky. At least we had three days where we could go swimming." He gazed at the high ceiling, trying to count how many wooden beams there were. Ethan watched as his friend stretched out on the couch after they finished eating, and snuck away to pick three apples from the bowl in the center of the table.

"Watch this," he announced, causing Peter to jump, and he sat up. Ethan began to juggle the apples as he walked through the doorway connecting the kitchen and parlor, and Peter stared.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked, as an apple was tossed at him after a moment.

"I taught myself," Ethan replied, and tossed the other two pieces of fruit to his friend. "And I'm going to teach you. It's not hard, really."

Peter tried to balance the fruit in his hands, but an apple slipped and fell to the floor. Ethan grinned as he picked it up, and steadied it in Peter's palm.

"Toss one up, and then the other…but let them leave your hands, Peter…don't just toss them up and catch them. Well, what I mean is—toss two apples from one hand to the other, and then throw the third…ack!" he ducked as Peter lost control of his third apple, tossing it in Ethan's direction.

"Sorry," Peter laughed, and went to retrieve it. "Mum shouldn't have let us stay in the house alone together…she might come home to find you mamed by fly away fruit."

Ethan rolled his eyes, and took the apples away, and began to juggle them slowly, but smoothly. "See what I'm doing?" he asked, and Peter stood, catching two apples as they were tossed again at him. He began to juggle them from one hand to the other, and one he let go of an apple, he caught the third that Ethan tossed again. "Damn!" he cursed, as all three fell to the floor at his feet.

Both boys began laughing after Peter recovered from his failure, and were about to start again when they heard anxious knocking on the door. The noise was so sudden that Peter cried out with alarm, and threw the apple so hard that it smacked against the wall and broke in two. Ethan watched as the pieces tumbled to the floor, and told Peter to get on the ground.

"They probably heard you," he hissed, and Peter looked at him.

"We really should open it," Peter told him. "maybe we can help!"

"Mum would kill me!" Ethan hissed. "if she found out…"

Peter looked at him, just as they heard a woman shout for help at that moment, and he got to his feet. "We can at least ask what's wrong," he suggested, and Ethan slapped a hand to his forehead, starting to yell for his friend to stop as he started to leave the room. Peter was already to the front door by the time Ethan got to his feet, and he pressed his ear against it. "Who is it?" he called.

"My baby's dying, please…is your mother home?"

Peter heard Ethan coming up behind him, and glanced over his shoulder. "No, she's not," he replied.

"Can't we at least get her some medicine?" Peter hissed, looking at his friend. "Didn't you tell me your Mum taught you how to help if there was an emergency? The woman's baby's real sick…maybe…if we tossed it through the window to her or something…"

Ethan muttered under his breath and watched as Peter unlocked the door, pulling it open halfway. A middle-aged woman stood holding a three year old girl. The child was crying and covered in red spots.

"Shut it!" Ethan snapped.

"Please…this is Midwife Hunt's home, is it not? My baby's come down with the measles just this mornin', and I've tried all I know…"

Ethan finally pushed Peter out of the way, and opened the door. "Come in, Ma'am," he encouraged at last, and Peter stared. "My Mum's not around, you see, but I…I know where she keeps all of her extra supplies. What have you tried already?" he took the screaming girl into his arms, and held the toddler close, trying to shush her.

"Hurts, hurts, hurts," the child wailed, and Peter felt his heart breaking at once. The little girl reminded him way too much of Lucy. "Peter, in my father's study, there's a medical book in the small shelf in the corner. Go and fetch it, will you?" he sounded breathless, and Peter immediately took off. He burst into the small, oak-furnished room, and began scrambling through the different books in the shelf Ethan instructed. He closed his eyes when the little girl began to wail again, and wanted to kick himself for trying to be so noble.

He knew he should have listened to Ethan and not opened the door—he hadn't meant for the woman and daughter to come in, but something in the back of his mind at the time told him it had been the right thing to do. "Peter, hurry up!" Ethan yelled, and Peter blinked, realizing he'd lost himself in thought. He found the medical book at last, and dashed back into the kitchen. Ethan sat on one of the chairs at the table, sponging the child's fever-flushed cheeks with a cool cloth.

"Under M…" Ethan gulped. "I can't look it up myself…find out what it says."

Peter opened the large book on the table, and with trembling hands, flipped through the thin pages to the section with the letter M. He'd barely begun to read through the symptoms of Measles, when Mrs. Hunt came home.

"Ethan!" she cried in horror as she found her son sitting with the sick and crying child, and then ordered both boys out of the room at once.

"Mummy…Mummy, I don't want to die, Mummy…" the child cried, and Ethan nearly fainted right on the spot.

"Mrs. Hunt, I am so sorry…" the mother of the invalid apologized. "I was so desparate…my only little girl, Ma'am…"

"I understand," Mrs. Hunt explained, giving her son a look. "Peter, Ethan, upstairs…NOW."

Peter grabbed Ethan's arm and pulled his friend towards the stairs. "It'll be all right," he promised, as Ethan sobbed, tripping and collapsing to his knees on the first step. "Ethan come on!"

Ethan managed to pull himself together enough to get up to the main platform. They could hear the child coughing violently, and the mother's frantic voice. Ethan looked at Peter wearily once they were in his bedroom, sitting on his bed. Or rather, Ethan was lying on it, trembling and white as a sheet.

"Calm down," Peter begged, and Ethan turned over on his stomach, burying his face in his pillows.

"Leave me alone," he croaked, and Peter stared at him. "Go away, Peter."

Peter stood, hanging his head. "Do you need…"

"Go away!" Ethan repeated, and he immediately hurried out of the room, stopping at the foot of the stairs. The house was silent again, except for the sound of quiet sobs. He tiptoed halfway down, his heart hammering in his chest…he could no longer hear the little girl's voice…just the mother.

"My baby," the stranger sobbed. "My poor child…"

Peter felt his heart constrict. It couldn't be…

He crept up to the kitchen doorway, and saw Mrs. Hunt holding the patient's mother as she sobbed, and saw a small figure covered in an old white sheet.

Mrs. Hunt seemed to notice his presence, and looked up so fast that he took a step backward. "She's…" Peter whispered, and Ethan's mother nodded sadly.

"We couldn't save her," she replied, and the mother of the little girl sobbed loudly again. "The fever was too advanced."

Peter felt suddenly sick to his stomach, and clutched it quickly. Mrs. Hunt recognized the expression on his face instantly, and went to fetch a basin, holding it under him while he retched violently. This had been the first death he'd witnessed. She rubbed his back soothingly, offering a glass of water to him when he was finished.

"I'm…" he choked after he'd taken a sip, and was eased onto the living room couch. "So sorry…"

She smiled, and patted his hand. "Darling, you acted with your conscience, and your heart was certainly in the right place."

"I disobeyed you," he sobbed. "You said not to open the door for anyone…"

"It's all right, sweetheart. You did the right thing, truly."

"What…what are we going to tell Ethan?" he asked, fighting against more nausea.

She rubbed his shoulder, and gave him a hug. "Are you going to be sick again, dear?" she asked, and Peter choked, grateful when she got the basin under his head just in time again. He retched twice more, feeling considerably better afterwards, though his head was reeling.

"We have to tell Ethan, don't we?" Peter asked, and she smiled softly at him.

"Yes, we will," she replied. "But I am going to help Mrs. Bonner take her child's body home. If Ethan asks about Abigail—yes, that was the little girl's name—tell him what you feel you can."

Peter nodded, and watched as Mrs. Hunt picked up the basin. "I should not be very long."

Peter stood slowly, feeling a sudden realization come to him. "Ethan's…he's…had the measles already, hasn't he?" he asked, and Mrs. Hunt looked at him with sad eyes.

"No," she replied, and Peter felt hot tears coming to his eyes. Now his best friend was going to possibly be sick, and it was all his fault. "And you haven't, either, love. I would recommend changing your clothes and taking to bed after you've checked on Ethan."

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, and watched as Ethan's mother left the room, and went to see to Mrs. Bonner.

When the house was empty except for he and Ethan at last, Peter went upstairs, and peeked into his friend's room. He could see Ethan laying on his bed, curled into a ball. He wasn't under the covers, which was a bit of a relief…no chills yet.

"Ethan?" Peter called softly, and his friend stirred, turning to face him. Ethan's eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and his face was pale.

"She's dead, isn't she?" he asked in a hoarse voice, and Peter bit his lip.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, and silent tears began ot fall down Ethan's cheeks. Peter sat downon the bed next to him, and looked at his lap. "How are you feeling, anyway?" he asked, and Ethan looked at him.

"Okay, I guess," he whispered. "Tired, really."

Peter sighed. "I'm an idiot," he said finally, standing up, and kicked the wall. Ethan watched with surprise. "I'm such an idiot!" he burst into tears at last, the frustration over what he'd done finally taking over. "If I had listened to you, this wouldn't have happened," he gulped, and Ethan slowly stood, going to his friend's side.

"Peter, sit down," he begged.

"If something happens to you, I don't know…" Peter choked, looking at him.

"Sit down before you fall, down," Ethan ordered, and Peter sat down on the bed again, wiping his nose with the corner of his sleeve.

"I don't know what came over me when I did that," Peter whispered. "I…"

"You felt sorry for her," Ethan explained. "You panicked."

"She reminded me of Lucy," Peter whispered. "Just…everything. I wanted to do something, anything."

Ethan nodded. "I was thinking the same thing myself," he agreed, shivering a little.

"Get in bed," Peter said, noticing this, and when his friend started to protest, he wouldn't hear it. "I'm supposed to be getting into bed, too," he added. "Your Mum'll box both our ears if she finds us awake and talking when she gets home."

Ethan sighed, removing his shoes, and slid under the covers. "My throat does feel kind of scratchy, Peter," he admitted, and Peter felt his heart racing. "But I think it's just from crying, you know?"

Peter managed a smile. "Yeah," he agreed, fluffing his friend's pillows.

"Sorry, Peter," Ethan apologized, and Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" he asked.

"For all this."

"Shut up, you dolt," Peter snapped, before turning and going into the guest room.


	9. Chapter 9: The Shadow Deepens

Chapter 9

_The shadow deepens_

Peter and Ethan slept for the rest of the afternoon, the ordeal from earlier that day having exhausted them. When Mrs. Hunt came to wake them around supper, she found that Ethan was already running a fever. "Dear, could you sit up for me?" she asked softly, her heart racing. "I have to take your temperature."

Ethan groaned, coughing and cringing at his sore throat. He shivered as he turned over on his back, pulling the blankets up to his chest. "Where's Peter?" he croaked, noticing that it was dark outside already; he couldn't hear his friend's voice, and wondered if he'd gone home.

"He's still sleeping," Mrs. Hunt told her son calmly. "Though I think I am going to have to send him home tonight." She placed the thermometer under Ethan's tongue, and told him to hold it there for a minute.

"Why?" Ethan asked, nearly spitting the thermometer out, but quickly put it back in.

"Because you're starting to get sick, love. I can tell you have a fever just by looking at you." She brushed his bangs away from his face. Ethan sighed, disappointed that the rest of his week-long holiday was ruined. Peter was technically supposed to stay with them for four more days.

When the thermometer was ready to be removed, Mrs. Hunt slipped it carefully out of her son's mouth, and peered closely at the numbers. She shook her head and kissed his temple, easing him back against the pillows. "Just as I suspected, dear. Can you tell me what hurts, if anything?" she tucked the blankets around his shivering body.

"My throat," Ethan replied weakly. "and my eyes ache."

"Mmmmm. Well, how about I give you a bit of cough medicine to help you go to sleep?"

Ethan wrinkled his nose; he hated cough syrup more than anything, and tried to fight against another fit, but lost rather poorly. Mrs. Hunt chuckled softly, and went to fetch the bottle of dark liquid from the upstairs bathroom. As she headed in that general direction, she stopped into Peter's room.

He was curled into a ball under the blankets when she turned on the night table lamp. "Sweetheart?" she asked, and he coughed once, pulling the blankets close to his neck.

"Unnnh," he muttered, not wanting to move. Every joint in his body, and his throat, too. He sniffed when she gave him a gentle shake, and managed to force himself to turn around. "Oh," he whispered. "sorry."

She felt his forehead, clucking her tongue. "You're starting to run a bit of a temperature too, Peter."

"I want to go home," Peter whispered, and sneezed. He missed his mother; he felt so miserable, and so cold. He wanted Lucy…

"I know. I'm going to phone your parents and have them come get you as soon as they are able."

"'S dark," he whispered, and she nodded.

"Yes, you and Ethan slept all day. But it was to your benefit, I'm sure." She offered him a handkerchief, which he accepted gratefully.

"Is he okay?" Peter asked, after blowing his nose, and coughing again.

"You're both sick," she replied simply.

"Measles?" Peter asked, and she smiled.

"Hopefully God will spare you both, but…I fear the symptoms are already appearing on Ethan. Do your eyes hurt?"

Peter sniffed and shook his head. "Just my head and my throat, I think. And I'm so cold." He gave another shiver, and she tucked him in.

"Well, just try to stay warm, dear, and I'm going to give each of you a small dose of medicine. Then I'll call your mother, all right?"

Peter nodded weakly, hating to be looked after by a complete stranger. He was worried about Ethan, who, despite his wild personality, was still a lot thinner and frailer than Peter in build.

Mrs. Hunt left the room and went to get the bottle of medicine, hearing her son coughing from down the hall. She opened the medicine cabinet and pulled it out, along with a small spoon, and went to tend to Ethan first.

"Mum, my throat really hurts," Ethan sobbed as she approached his bed. "and the light's too bright, Mum."

She bit her lip and turned down the lamp, knowing for a fact that Ethan was showing symptoms of measles. Aching eyes were certainly one of them. "I know, sweetheart. I'll turn it off in a moment, but I have to see to give you the medicine." She poured a spoonful and eased it into his mouth, watching as he made a horrible face. He looked at her pitifully as he forced it down, and nearly choked on it.

"I didn't mean to kill her, Mum," Ethan whispered, once she turned the light out and tucked him in properly.

Mrs. Hunt stopped in mid-stride, and turned around.

"What?" she breathed, and Ethan gave another shiver.

"I didn't mean to kill her…she's dead because I didn't listen."

Mrs. Hunt closed her eyes, fighting against tears. "Oh Ethan, that wasn't your fault," she insisted. "The little girl was already very badly off, and probably would have died sooner, had you and Peter not brought her inside."

Ethan's teeth chattered, despite how tightly he pulled the blankets around himself. "I miss Dad," he whimpered, and Mrs. Hunt was certain she would break at that very instant.

"Try to get some sleep, love," she begged. "I have to give Peter a bit of medicine, and then call his parents." She kissed his cheek, which felt so hot. "I'll be back soon, sweetheart," she promised, dashing across the hall again.

After giving Peter some of the cough syrup, she hurried down to the telephone, and dialed the Pevensie's number. This was a cruel change of fate; was it not enough to loose her husband in such a horrible accident? Was it not possible she and Ethan live the rest of their days in what peace they could?

"Mrs. Pevensie?" she finally spoke, when Peter's mother's voice filled her ear. "This is Angela Hunt. I am afraid I have a bit of bad news…"

Susan, Edmund and Lucy were gathered around the parlor when the phone rang, having just eaten supper. Mr. Pevensie looked up from his newspaper as Helen cried, "John!" after a couple of moments.

Edmund sat up so quickly that he whacked his head on the bottom of the chair he'd been lying under, and bit back a curse. Lucy glanced at Susan, who paused in her reading, and watched as her father rushed into the kitchen.

"John, please!"

Mr. Pevensie gave his children apologetic smiles, and he immediately got to his feet, and dashed to where his wife stood in the kitchen. Helen was shaking and white as a sheet, and had to steady herself against her husband. "Darling, calm down," he soothed. "Who was that?"

"It was Mrs. Hunt," Helen replied, and John raised his eyes at his wife. "Peter's sick…they had a mother bring a little girl to the house who had measles. She thinks the boys are coming down with it." She felt tears pricking the corner of her eyes. "She said if we could, to pick him up tonight, before matters got…got worse…" she began to cry softly, and Mr. Pevensie hugged her.

"Helen, it won't do you any good to panic," he said, and she stared at him. "We'll have to send Edmund and Lucy to stay with your sister; it's too dangerous to keep them here if Peter is in deed coming down with the measles. Susan's already had it, so she'll be able to stay and help us."

"What are we going to tell them, John?" Helen asked, her voice very quiet, and he touched her cheek.

"The truth, of course…they're old enough to hear it. But I'll tell them, dear. You sit and have a cup of tea to relax."

"Oh John, my little boy," she choked, and he kissed her.

"We will get him tonight," He promised, and she sat, her eyes following as he left for the living room.

Susan was the first to get to her feet when she saw her father's grave expression, and clasped her hands in front of her.

"Edmund, Lucy…we're going to have to send you two away to Aunt Anna's for a couple of days," Mr. Pevensie told his youngest children, who stared.

"Why!" Lucy cried. "What've we done, Daddy?"

Mr. Pevensie laughed softly. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to forget to feed Murphy earlier," Edmund insisted.

"Don't worry," Mr. Pevensie promised. "It's nothing you did. That was Ethan's mother on the phone…Peter's very sick, and has to be brought home tonight."

Lucy gasped, and Susan began to cry softly, burying her face in her hands. "Is he dying?" she asked, and Edmund stared.

"What...?"

"When did this happen?" Susan asked, wiping her eyes.

"He started running a fever this evening," Mr. Pevensie replied. "Susan, go and sit with your mother, will you, dear?"

Susan choked on another sob and nodded. "I…I don't have to go, do I?" she asked in a small voice, and the realization suddenly hit Lucy.

"I won't," she snapped. "I won't go!"

"Lucy, you have to be a good girl…it's too dangerous for you or Edmund to stay. Peter has the measles, and neither of you have had it yet…"

"I don't care!" Lucy wailed. "I don't wanna go…Peter needs me!"

"Shut up, Lucy," Edmund snapped. "Dad, is it really serious?"

Mr. Pevensie narrowed his eyes. "Well, he's not sporting spots yet, but he's not feeling very well."

"How d'you know it's measles, then?"

"Because they were taking care of a little girl who had it," Mr. Pevensie replied. "and it's very contagious. So Edmund, take Lucy upstairs and help her pack. Lucy, stop looking at me like that…this is not the time to argue!"

"I want Peter," Lucy sobbed, and immediately dashed away. "I won't let you take me away!"

Mr. Pevensie groaned, and patted Edmund on the shoulder. "Go and pack a suitcase for your sister, son," he said. "I have to go and pick up Peter as soon as possible." He watched as Edmund tore upstairs, and went to where his daughter usually hid when she was angry or upset—in the front hall coat closet.

"Lucy Pevensie, you come out this minute," he thundered. "I have no time for this."

Lucy's sobs were muffled amongst the coats and umbrellas, so it was all too obvious of her location. He pulled the door open, and saw her crouched in the corner. "Please, Daddy," she choked. "Don't make me g-go to Aunt Anna's…I—I won't be in the w-way, I promise…"

Mr. Pevensie reached in and picked his daughter up into his arms, pulling her out.

"Darling, I know you're scared for Peter. I know you would not intentionally be in the way. But it's not a question of interfering…it's the fear that you or Edmund could get sick, too…"

"I'd rather be sick than Peter," Lucy sobbed, and Mr. Pevensie blew out his breath.

"I am sure he would be very happy to hear that, love," he replied. "but as it happens, it would do everybody a lot of good if you went with Edmund. I promise it won't be for very long."

"Aunt Anna pinches my cheeks, and her cat scares me," she whimpered, and Mr. Pevensie chuckled.

"You're a big girl, Lucy. It is high time you began to act like one, all right?"

Lucy hiccoughed. "B-but—if I go away, how'll I know when Peter's better?" she asked, and he smiled.

"We will tell you how he's feeling every day, all right?"

Lucy bit her lip. "Promise?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I promise."

"Well..I s'ppose I'll go," she replied, and he tweaked her nose gently.

"That's my girl," he replied, just as Edmund came down, carrying two suitcases, and Lucy's doll in one arm.

"Did you pack my book?" she asked, and Ethan looked at her.

"What book?" he asked, and Lucy rolled her eyes.

"The fairytale book, silly!"

"Oh…uh…no," Edmund replied, and Lucy made a face at him.

"Well, I'm not going without it," she replied, and rushed up the steps to her room.

Mr. Pevensie went to phone Aunt Anna, who told him it was fine that Edmund and Lucy come to stay with her for a little while.

"I am so sorry to hear about Peter," she said. "Is it bad?"

"Not yet," Mr. Pevensie replied. "But it will be better if he's home with us, in case. I have a feeling he'll be in bed for the rest of the week." Mr. Pevensie crossed his fingers, hoping that was how long it would take for Peter to recover…or less. But Measles had a tendency to become dangerous, and Peter was susceptible to rather serious strains of illnesses.

Lucy came down at last, clutching her book to her chest.

Mrs. Pevensie came to kiss her two youngest goodbye, promising them they would be home soon.

"Tell Peter we love him," Lucy choked, and her mother nodded.

"I will, darling. Edmund…please keep a close eye on your sister, will you?"

Edmund sighed and nodded his head. "Yes, Mum," he replied, and followed his father and Lucy out into the humid night.

Susan came up behind her mother after they left, and leaned against her shoulder.

"Oh Mum," she breathed, after Mrs. Pevensie acknowledged her presence, and allowed her to take her hand. "Peter will be all right…he has to be." She tried to sound more confident than she felt.

Mr. Pevensie brought Edmund and a very tearful Lucy to Aunt Anna's, before driving for the seashore.

He felt a bit numb, as though he were in some sort of dream…a nightmare.

When he arrived at the Hunt's at a quarter to nine, Mrs. Hunt, exhausted, met him at the door .

"He's asleep," she said, swallowing. "But he has a terrible cough."

"How is Ethan?" Mr. Pevensie asked, and she looked at him wearily.

"Doing poorly," she replied, as she led him to the guest room, where his eldest son lay under a thick quilt. His breathing was a bit labored, and his face ghastly white.

"Peter," Mr. Pevensie spoke, touching the boy's burning cheek. Peter stirred and swallowed past his swollen throat, but didn't open his eyes.

Mr. Pevensie moved about quietly, packing Peter's things, and eventually eased the boy awake.

"It hurts," Peter whispered when he sat, and coughed hard into a fist.

"I know, son. I know. I'm going to carry you out to the car."

Peter groaned as he was wrapped in a spare blanket, and lifted into his father's arms. Mrs. Hunt carried the suitecase downstairs, and followed them outside.

"I'm cold," Peter croaked. "Dad, I'm so cold…"

Mrs. Hunt smoothed his damp bangs away from his forehead, and placed a kiss there.

"You'll be home in your own bed soon, love," she promised, and Mr. Pevensie eased Peter into the backseat of the car…so he had more room to lay down.

"Thank you for everything," he told Mrs. Hunt, and she nodded.

"Good luck," she said softly, before turning and gracefully sweeping back into the house.

Mr. Pevensie got into the driver's seat, and reached back to take Peter's hand for a moment. "Hang in there," he encouraged, and Peter gave a soft groan as the engine started. This was certainly not the first miserable noise he made—he let out a soft whimper everytime the car hit a bump, and was barely half conscious by the time they reached home.

Mrs. Pevensie, who had been sitting by the parlor window waiting, was up on her feet and out the door as soon as the car pulled into the narrow driveway. Susan followed her, and the two dashed outside to give Mr. Pevensie a hand.

"Oh my God," Susan breathed as her father lifted her eldest brother out of car. Peter was clinging to Mr. Pevensie's neck, barely acknowledging his sister when she went to take his hand.

"I'm afraid the journey did him in," Mr. Pevensie said softly as he carried his son inside and straight up to bed.

"Susan," Mrs. Pevensie told her daughter, "fetch a bowl of water and a rag…and extra towels."

Susan didn't hesitate, and ran into the kitchen immediately.

"'M so tired," Peter croaked as he was eased into bed, and tucked in.

"I know, love," Mrs. Pevensie told him, smoothing his burning forehead. "Just try to rest."

He coughed and groaned again, turning away. "Thirsty," he whispered, and Mr. Pevensie went to get a glass of water from the bathroom. Both came back at the same time, and when Mrs. Pevensie tried to encourage Peter to sit up and take a sip, he didn't want to.

"No," he whimpered, and Susan bit her lip.

"Sweetheart, you just told me you were thirsty…please try to take a sip."

Peter groaned and allowed his mother to ease the glass against his lips, but only managed two sips before collapsing against the pillows.

"Good boy."

Mr. Pevensie took the glass and set it on the nightstand, shaking his head sadly. "Susan, it's getting late," he announced, and his eldest daughter looked up, wide-eyed. "Perhaps you should retire to bed…it'll be a long day tomorrow."

"I…" Susan began, but closed her mouth when she saw her mother's expression. "Oh…"

"Darling, you won't do us any good at all by not getting sleep," Mrs. Pevensie encouraged. "We'll need you to be awake and alert tomorrow."

Susan bit her lip, watching as Peter tossed and turned for a bit, relaxing a little when Mr. Pevensie put a hand on his shoulder.

"All…all right, Mum," she whispered, and received a hug from her mother.

"Good girl. John, take her to bed, will you?"

Mr. Pevensie nodded, and put an arm around his daughter's shoulders, allowing her to kiss Peter's cheek softly before shuffling out of the bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10: Always Watching

Chapter 10

_Always watching_

_He was alone in the great field again, surrounded by endless, an endless, dense wood. The sky was a cloudy grey, mixed with patches of sunlight, and the wind was still. Ethan looked over his shoulder towards the entrance of the forest, and squinted as he peerd through the darkness. He could swear he saw a pair of yellow eyes peering at him between the green leaves, and a low rumble…a growl, almost…mixed with a sudden breeze. _

"_Whose there?" he asked, his voice stronger than he expected. "I'm not afraid," he added, and the low growl ceased. When Ethan moved closer to the woods, the yellow eyes seemed to vanish, and the air grew still again. "Where are you?"_

"Where are you?" Ethan whimpered, turning from side to side, and Mrs. Hunt jolted awake from having dozed off in her chair. It was nearly dawn; she'd been sitting beside his bed all night.

"Darling, shhshhh, I'm right here love," she soothed, smoothing his forehead, being mindful of the red spots that were beginning to appear there. Ethan jolted away from her, and had to be caught before he rolled right off of the bed.

"Mum?" he could barely speak, his voice was so hoarse. "'S' you?"

Mrs. Hunt nodded, trying to smile. "Of course. You were dreaming."

"I lost him again, Mum," Ethan whispered, shivering violently.

"Lost who?" Mrs. Hunt cocked her head to one side, confused.

"I don't know," Ethan admitted. "But he was there, and then he was gone. I could see the eyes, that was all."

"You're feverish," Mrs. Hunt replied. "Just try to go back to sleep, dear."

Ethan groaned, feeling hot and cold at the same time, and extremely itchy. His mother had smoothed a salve on the spots, trying to ease the sensation, and covered his hands so he wouldn't be able to scratch. It was torture.

"What's happening, Mum? My head feels all fuzzy."

Mrs. Hunt brushed his hair away from his forehead, kissing him gently. "Shshhhh," she soothed, and Ethan wet his dry, cracked lips, and tried to fall back to sleep. However, a proper sleep proved impossible in his condition; he couldn't get comfortable, and the sheets and blanket became tangled between his legs.

"Can't," he croaked, and she eased him up a bit as he started coughing again.

"Your fever is starting to spike," she sighed, after feeling his cheeks. "I'll be right back." She picked up the porcelain bowl from the nightstand, and Ethan watched as she swept into the hallway. When she was gone, he peered through the crack in the curtains; the print on the fabric seemed to transform into the same eyes he saw through the thicket.

"What do you want?" he croaked. "What d'you…want?" he pulled the blankets close to his chin, unable to stay warm.

When Mrs. Hunt came back with a bowl of fresh water, she saw her son staring at the wall. "Mum, can't you see them?" he asked as she sat down, and she stared.

"What?" she asked, wetting the wash cloth, and Ethan looked at her.

"They're all over, Mum…see…look…" he pointed to the curtains, and Mrs. Hunt could only see sunlight pouring onto the rug.

"I see nothing but the curtains, sweetheart," she said sadly.

"Where's…where's Peter?" Ethan whispered, as she began to blot his forehead gently.

"Peter's at home, dear," Mrs. Hunt told him quietly.

"'S he okay…"

"I don't know," she admitted, and Ethan cringed.

"It's too cold," he whimpered, and she closed her eyes, fighting back tears.

"Heaven help us," she whispered, making the sign of a cross.

Susan was jolted awake by the sound of harsh coughing from down the hallway. She sat up in her bed, peering around her room. It was morning…nine o'clock to be exact. Susan sighed softly as she slid out of bed and put her feet into her slippers. It was perfect timing, because her father peeped in moments later.

"Oh good," he breathed. "You're awake."

"What's wrong?" Susan asked, grabbing her robe and putting it on.

"No! Let me go!" Peter's cries caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle, and she understood at once. Without a moment more of hesitation, she followed her father into her brother's room, and found her mother trying to calm Peter down, who was fighting every effort.

"Mum, Mum what's happening?" Susan asked, rushing to the side of the bed, and Mrs. Pevensie looked up.

"He's having a nightmare, but the fever's advancing so much that he can't seem to get out of it…darling, please, shshhh…" she held Peter down gently, and watched as Susan sat down in the chair she used the night before.

"Stop, it hurts, stop…" Peter begged, and she noticed a few spots on his neck.

"It's really…" Susan breathed, and Mr. Pevensie cleared his throat. He was having a difficult time watching his son, who clearly thought he was in some way being tortured.

"Mum! Mum, Dad!" Peter cried. "Mum, no…" he broke into coughing, which shook his whole body roughly.

"What can I do?" Susan asked, her voice very shaky, and Mrs. Pevensie led her daughter's hand towards her brother's wrist. "Peter," she whispered. "It's Susan…it's all right, you're safe…" she soothed, and Peter's cries of pain and terror seemed to cease almost at once.

"Su…?" he whispered, opening his eyes, which were bloodshot.

The adults glanced at each other with surprise, and then Mrs. Pevensie turned to Peter.

"Sweetheart?" she asked, and Peter looked at her wearily.

"Mum?" he whispered. "Where'm…" his breath caught in his chest, and Susan encouraged him to sit up a bit so he could cough a bit easier.

"Oh," Susan breathed. "He's covered in spots," she realized, when she saw the rest of his body. His pajama shirt had been removed, revealing his bare upper body.

"Is Lucy all right?" Peter croaked. "Is she…is she…" he sniffed, and Susan nodded.

"She's fine," she promised. "Peter, she's staying with Aunt Anna right now. She's safe."

"Thought they had her," Peter choked, and shivered.

"Who?" Susan asked, squeezing his hand, which felt like a block of ice.

"I don't know," Peter whispered. "I could hear her crying, but I couldn't find her. Then they grabbed me, and started poking me…"

"That's the spots," Susan said, and Peter slid back down on the mattress, too tired and sore to sit for very long.

"I'll…I'll fetch us some tea, shall I?" Mr. Pevensie asked, unable to bear seeing his son in this state. Susan frowned as he quickly left the room, and she rested her head against her brother's chest.

"'S too bright," Peter whispered. "Mum, my eyes hurt…"

"Susan, close the curtains, will you, dear?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, and Susan lifted her head, standing to do as she was told. The room became fairly dark, with the only light coming from the hall.

"Lucy…" Peter croaked, and Suan felt her heart stop in mid-beat. "Where is she?"

"I told you, Peter, she's fine," Susan repeated. "She's with Aunt Anna."

"And…Ed?" he swallowed, his throat so swollen that the pain brought tears to his eyes.

"He's with her," Susan replied softly.

"Oh," Peter whispered, and Mrs. Pevensie folded a cool compress over her son's forehead. "Why was she screaming, then?"

Susan glanced at her mother, who shook her head sadly.

"No one was screaming, Peter," Susan said.

"I heard her," Peter insisted.

"Just try to sleep, dear," Mrs. Pevensie soothed.

"I'm too hot," Peter croaked, and Susan squeezed his hand.

"You're burning up," she said, and they pulled his blankets down halfway.

"Mum?" Peter croaked, and Mrs. Pevensie touched his arm gently.

"I'm here, love," she insisted. "I'm right here, darling."

Susan felt her lips trembling; it was so sad to see her brother like this. He was certainly very sick, especially if he were imagining things in this way. Peter did have an imagination of his own, but he usually knew when to stop pretending.

Peter moaned and fussed from side to side under the covers, and Susan watched as her mother took his hand, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

"What can I do?" Susan asked, her voice coming out in an almost squeak. Peter moaned, coughing, and shivered violently with chills. She felt so helpless, just standing there staring.

"Fetch another blanket and an extra pillow, will you, dear?"

Susan hopped up at once, and went to the linen closet. It was terrible to see Peter so ill. She vaguely remembered her own experience with the measles…she had been very young at the time, but she remembered Peter sitting with her through the end of it. He hadn't been allowed to be near her at the start, of course, but when she wasn't contagious anymore, he sat beside her the entire time.

She felt hot tears pricking the corner of her eyes, and finally allowed them to fall down her cheeks. She thought about Ethan, who was probably lying in bed experiencing the same torture as her brother, and had to lean against the wall to keep from fainting.

She stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep from sobbing aloud when she heard Peter's cries of pain from the sick room, and watched as her father came into the hall, looking very pale.

"I can't," Mr. Pevensie whispered, and Susan stared at him.

"Dad?" she choked, and he hugged her.

"My heart can't take it anymore, Susan. I can't be in the same room without feeling as though I am going to fall apart in front of your mother."

Susan sobbed quietly against her father's chest, and allowed him to pick her up for the first time since she'd been little. "Have to get the things for Mum," she whimpered, clinging to his neck. "Dad, is Peter…is he going…" she swallowed hard. "I know I didn't die when I had the measles, but…he's much sicker than I was."

Mr. Pevensie lowered her to the ground, and let her get the things from the linen closet.

"It hasn't been more than half a day, Susan," Mr. Pevensie told her. "We'll have no idea about the outcome anytime soon."

"I wish I could see Ethan," Susan whispered, and Mr. Pevensie patted her on the head. "I hope he's going to be all right." She gulped, remembering how much fun they'd had when he came to visit their cottage. _Even if he did think me silly, _she thought, wetting her lips.

"I enjoyed his company as well, Susan, but that's not possible," he said softly, and she nodded in understanding. "Go on and help your mother. I am going to take a bit of fresh air." He went downstairs, and Susan went back into Peter's room, finding him asleep at last.

"Thank you," Mrs. Pevensie told her daughter, easing Peter's head up a little so she could put the extra pillow under it, and covered him with the second blanket. Peter whimpered at the movement, and Susan watched as his hands moved ever so slightly.

"I love you, Peter," she spoke softly into his ear, and he groaned, turning his head towards her, but not opening his eyes.

Meanwhile, Edmund and Lucy were enduring Aunt Anna, who was trying her very best to make the youngest Pevensie children at home. Lucy tried her best to keep her mind occupied, and therefore spent a lot of time outdoors. Edmund spent most of his time sulking in the parlor, sitting on the couch by the window. Not that this was highly unusual, of course, but even though he didn't show it on the outside, he was very worried about Peter.

Their father hadn't contacted them at all as he promised he would, so they knew nothing. They hadn't even seen Peter since his return from Ethan's house, so they were not sure how badly off he really was.

Lucy lay on her back in the grass, gazing up at the blue sky. The humidity was causing her dress to stick to her skin, which made it very uncomfortable. Thankfully, though, a slight breeze ruffled past every now and again, tousseling her hair.

She watched the clouds as they drifted past, trying to decipher their shapes. She hoped Peter and Ethan would get better, because, after all, Ethan promised he would help her build the fairy house the next summer.

"Lucy?" Aunt Anna called from the open window of the kitchen, and Lucy craned her neck so she could see her relative. "Time for lunch, dear!"

Lucy sighed, pushing her body up from the ground, and brushed pieces of dirt and grass from her dress. Aunt Anna was actually being quite bearable this visit, probably because she knew the children were upset over their brother, and did not want to distress them further by being too pushy.

"Wash your hands, love," Aunt Anna ordered gently as Lucy entered the kitchen, finding Edmund already eating his sandwich at the table. She took great measures to ignore him completely, which was just fine with him. He didn't like to interact with his pest of a sister anyhow.

"Why hasn't father called?" Lucy asked, as she stood on a step stool and washed her hands in the sink.

"Oh my dear, I am sure he will when he gets a moment," Aunt Anna said, smoothing her hair. "He's very busy taking care of your brother."

"He promised he'd call every day to tell me how Peter was doing," Lucy pouted, once she dried her hands and sat down, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich not appearing at all appetizing. In fact, since she arrived at her Aunt's house, she hadn't much of an appetite.

"I am sure he will keep his promise," Aunt Anna replied, touching her youngest niece's hand. "You were brought here only last night, and it is still early in the day. Have patience, Lucy."

Edmund shoved another piece of his own sandwich into his mouth, and took a sip of milk.

"Dad always keeps his promises," he said, and Lucy looked at him. "At least, he does with me."

She frowned, and sighed.

"Aunt Anna," Lucy whispered, "I'm not hungry." She pushed her plate back and leaned her chin in her palm, not certain how Edmund could go through the meal as though he didn't have a care in the world.

"Please, Lucy, you'll do yourself no good if you don't eat," Aunt Anna begged. "Just have a quarter of a sandwich, and I'll be satisfied. I even removed the crusts for you, because I know that's how you like it."

Lucy smiled softly, and gave her Aunt a hug, knowing the older woman was trying. She felt something soft rub against her shin, and saw Aunt Anna's cat, Rollie, sitting beside her chair. Rollie liked to follow Lucy all over the house when she came to visit, and often pounced when she was least expecting him.

"Oh, shoo!" Lucy hissed, waving her hand at the cat, and pulled it back quickly as it stretched a paw at her.

"Rollie! Do behave yourself," Aunt Anna scolded, lifting the cat into her arms, and brought it out of the kitchen. She was barely gone for two minutes when the telephone rang at last. Lucy stared at Edmund, who gave her a smug look, and she watched as her Aunt rushed back into the kitchen to answer it.

"Hello? Oh, John…"

Lucy pushed her chair back and stood up, waiting anxiously. "Yes, she's right here." Aunt Anna lowered the phone from her ear, and smiled, handing it to the small girl.

"Daddy?" Lucy spoke timidly into the receiver, her heart racing very fast against her chest.

"Hello, poppet. Are you behaving for your Auntie?" Mr. Pevensie asked, trying to block Peter's feverish cries from upstairs.

"Yes," Lucy promised. "Is Peter any better?"

There was a pause, and Lucy felt a bit dizzy.

"He's not doing well," Mr. Pevensie admitted. "He has a very high fever, and a bad cough that's making it difficult for him to breathe properly."

"Does he have spots?" Lucy asked, and Edmund's ears pricked with curiosity.

"Yes, he does."

Lucy glanced at Edmund, who lowered his head, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh." Lucy chewed on her lower lip. "Um…will you…will you tell him I love him?" she asked. "And I miss him? And I hope he gets better?"

Mr. Pevensie chuckled warmly. "Of couse I will, darling."

"Okay," Lucy nodded. "I love you, Daddy," she finished.

"May I speak with your brother?" he asked, and Lucy handed the phone to Edmund, before leaving the kitchen, her sandwich untouched. She felt tears filling her eyes, and she stomped her foot, scaring the cat that had been dozing on the living room rug. It gave a started, "Reow!" and dashed under the couch.

"Lucy?" Aunt Anna found her niece curled against the great chair, her face pressed against the back cushion, as she cried softly.

"Peter's very sick," she hiccoughed.

"I know, dear. I know, poppet," Aunt Anna soothed, rubbing Lucy's back.

"It's not fair that Susan gets to be with him and I can't," she sobbed. "It's not fair!" she sobbed louder, and didn't see Edmund peeing through the living room doorway. He looked rather pale and wide-eyed, telling his Aunt that he was going to go to his room for a bit.

"Let me know if you need anything," Aunt Anna told him, and he nodded, shuffling up the steps. "Lucy, I know you want to help. I know it's hard for you to just sit here and wait, but trust me, darling, you do not want to have the measles."

"I'd r-rather have them," she choked. "I'd r-rather be sick than P-Peter. He's…he's my favoritest," she sobbed, and Aunt Anna hugged her close, not knowing how to comfort the child. She never had children of her own, but adored her sister Helen's children as though they were hers, when they came to visit.

"I think it would be best if you lay down for a bit," Aunt Anna suggested, and Lucy stared at her.

"Too old for naps, Auntie," she muttered, and Aunt Anna laughed.

"No one is too old for naps," she replied. "I'm certainly not, and I take them as often as I can. Go along upstairs and rest, dear. I promise Rollie won't bother you."

Lucy sighed and nodded, and reluctantly went upstairs.


	11. Chapter 11: Further and Further in

Chapter 11

_Further and Further In_

_Darkness never seemed so thick before. Ethan tried to fight his way through what felt like thick clouds of smoke, but he couldn't. He couldn't see anything, not even the wide open field, or the edge of the great forest. He felt a gut-wrenching cold wash over him, and couldn't take a proper breath without feeling as though he were going to faint. _

_Where was the light? He wondered. It had been dark for so long…where was it?_

"_Further and further in," a voice said, and startled Ethan for a moment._

"_Who's there?" he asked, blinking. _

"_Further and further in," the voice repeated. _

"_I won't go until you tell me who it is!" Ethan shouted, determined not to let the darkness take him over. _

"_Further and further in…"_

As the week drug on, both boys were quickly getting worse. Ethan hadn't actually woken up in two days, despite prompts from his mother and the town doctor. He lay very still, his nightclothes drenched in sweat.

"I'm afraid there is nothing left to be done, Angela," Dr. Townsend spoke on the fifth night of the illness. "There is a possibility he'll go through a rough patch and pull out of it…you know the saying, one gets worse before getting better."

Mrs. Hunt sat beside her son's bed, staring blankly at the wall. She felt numb with worry, refusing to eat or sleep until Ethan showed some improvement.

"Allow me to make you a cup of tea," Dr. Townsend offered, worried about her. For a woman who dealt with sickness day in and day out, it was terrible to see Angela Hunt in this state. When Mrs. Hunt didn't answer, he patted her wrist, glancing quickly at Ethan, who merely stirred under the blankets.

"I'll make us a pot anyhow," he told her in a quiet voice, and slipped out of the sickroom.

When he went into the hallway, Dr. Townsend mopped his forehead with his handkerchief, blowing out his breath. He knew the boy was in a bad state, and had a terrible feeling that Ethan might not make it. He'd seen cases like this before with the measles, and when Mrs. Hunt explained the situation with the child Abigail, he couldn't help but think Ethan caught the same deadly strain.

"Musn't think that way," he muttered as he walked downstairs, trying not to make too much noise as his boots touched each step. "Musn't think that way." He glanced over his shoulder, the silence in the house deafening. "Mustn't think that way…" he repeated, and entered the kitchen.

Susan awoke to her mother's cries of, "John, JOHN! Hurry, please!" in the middle of the night. It was still dark, and she hadn't been asleep for more than two hours. She struggled to sit up, yawning, and rubbed her eyes. It had been a week already, and Peter was not recovering at all. In fact, the fever was advancing, to the point that he was half-conscious most of the day, and asleep at night.

Susan sat in her bed, too frightened to move, as she heard her mother's hysterical sobs and her father's soothing voice. What had happened…had Peter…

She slid out of bed, not bothering to put on her robe or slippers, and dashed out into the hall. She found her father sitting beside her brother's bed, shaking his body roughly. "Peter!" Mr. Pevensie hadn't been with them most of the week, having been forced to go back to work on Wednesday. However, he didn't stay at the publishing house as long as he used to; and Susan wasn't at all surprised.

"Daddy?" she whispered, and was immediately embraced by her mother, who was sobbing quietly.

"He still has a pulse," Mr. Pevensie told them, after feeling his son's wrist, and Susan gulped.

"What happened?" Susan asked, clutching her mother's hands.

"He's having a difficult time breathing," Mr. Pevensie replied, tapping his son's cheek. "He's going under."

"Peter!" Susan cried, starting to run for her brother, but her mother held her back. "Mum, no!" she struggled in her mother's grasp, wanting to grab Peter and shake him. "Peter!"

"Shshhhsh," Mrs. Pevensie whispered, as Mr. Pevensie lifted his son into his arms.

"We're going to have to take him to the hospital. This is getting beyond us," he told his wife. "Pack some things for him, and I'll get him settled in the car."

Susan stared, her cheeks wet with tears, and immediately flew into her brother's closet, grabbing whatever clothing she could find.

"Susan, darling, you go and get dressed…I'll take care of this, love," Mrs. Pevensie insisted, and Susan choked on more sobs, clutching her brother's cotton shirt to her chest.

"Mum, what's going to happen?" she asked. "Peter's…he's…"

"Don't you dare say that word," Mrs. Pevensie hissed. "He's going to be fine."

Susan handed the pile of clothing she'd picked up to her mother, and collapsed onto the bed. Peter hadn't acknowledged her much at all the past couple of days, even through fever fits. She'd done what she could to help him get more comfortable, which included the rather embarrassing task of a sponge bath. _I don't suppose I'll ever be a nurse, _she thought, as she watched her mother carefully put Peter's clothes into a suitecase.

"Darling, go and dress," Mrs. Pevensie ordered. "We're going to be leaving very shortly."

Susan dashed into her bedroom and pulled on a short-sleeved dress, which was Peter's favorite color…blue and white, and wore her black flats. She brushed her hair, pulled each part to the side with barrets, and dashed out to meet her mother in the parlor. Mr. Pevensie was waiting for them in the car when they got outside, and Susan sat beside her brother, holding his shivering form in her arms.

He coughed, unable to take a proper breath afterwards. She hugged him close, being mindful of the spots. "He's so cold," she told her parents, and Mrs. Pevensie glanced over the back of her seat, touching Peter's hand.

"He's burning up, Susan. Try not to smother him," she said, and Susan released her grasp, afraid that she would make the fever rise.

"We should contact your sister first thing in the morning," Mr. Pevensie said, as Peter let out a groan of pain, a series of wheezes following. Susan rubbed his back, startled when that only seemed to make his wheezing worse. He clutched her hand, giving a rather violent shudder, and his body went slack against her.

"Mum…" she whimpered, and Mrs. Pevensie glanced behind again. "Mum, he's…he's…" she stared, and her mother felt Peter's hand, which was ice cold.

"Oh my God…" she breathed, checking again for a pulse. "Peter, sweetheart, please…"

"We're almost there," Mr. Pevensie promised, and they arrived at the hospital at last. He immediately hopped out of the car once they parked, and grabbed Peter's unconscious form into his arms. He watched as his son's head bobbed limply, and immediately rushed him through the main doors.

Lucy awoke with a start, for no particular reason. She sat in her bed, clutching her blankets tightly in her fist. It was early morning; the sun was just starting to rise behind the trees and building tops, casting a golden glow over London.

She sat breathing rather heavily, and realized that Rollie the cat was curled up at her feet. "You disagreeable cat," she growled, shoving it off, and it hit the hard ground with a "Reow!"

Lucy shivered a little, folding her arms, and glanced around the room. Something terrible had happened, but she couldn't figure out what it was. She slipped out of bed and slid into her fluffy pink slippers, tiptoeing out of her room and into Edmund's.

Her older brother was still sound asleep and snoring loudly, waving her away with his hand when she poked him on the shoulder. "Whazzamatter?" he muttered, and merely pulled the blankets over his head.

"Edmund," Lucy hissed, and he finally pulled them down, glaring at her.

"What d'you want?" he croaked, and she bit her lip.

"Can't sleep," she whimpered, and he raised an eyebrow.

"What d'you want me to do about it?" he asked. He wans't Peter, and refused to go cuddling his sister the way his brother did. She bit her lip, shrugging.

"I'm scared," she said, sitting down on his desk chair, and looked down at the floor. He smirked, punching his pillows several times to fluff them out.

"Of the boogeyman?" he asked, and she stuck out her tongue.

"You are impossible, Edmund," she snapped, and he shrugged, flopping back down on his back. He was just about to tell her to go back into her own room, when the phone rang shrilly from downstairs. Both siblings jolted awake, staring at each other.

"Blimey, who'd be calling at six thirty?" he asked, and Lucy chewed on her nail, watching as her Aunt Anna dashed out of her bedroom down the hallway, wrapping her robe around herself along the way. Lucy ran out of the room after her, and followed her relative down the steps. The phone rang three times before Aunt Anna answered it, and she looked a bit startled to find Lucy standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Hello…Helen, darling, calm down, please…I can barely understand what you're going on about!"

Lucy opened her mouth, feeling her heart racing in her chest. It was her mother.

"John? Yes, I'm sorry, I couldn't…" there was a pause, and Aunt Anna's face turned white. "Oh John, I'm so sorry. It's that serious!"

Lucy could see Edmund peeping through the door beside her, but didn't turn to him.

"Is there anything to be done?" Aunt Anna reached for Lucy, who immediately flew across the kitchen, and took her hand. "Of course, of course. I can't imagine what you two must be going through…is Susan handling it?"

Another pause. "I'll bring them as soon as they eat their breakfast. Yes, yes, all right. Thank you." She hung up, and pulled Lucy into a tight hug.

"What's wrong?" Edmund asked, his voice still slightly groggy from having been woken before he was ready.

Aunt Anna took a deep breath. "Peter had to go to the hospital this morning," she said in a very quiet voice, and Lucy let out a cry. "He's gone into shock from the fever."

Edmund stared at his Aunt in disbelief, watching as Lucy began to sob. "You're joking," he breathed, and Aunt Anna lifted Lucy into her arms, holding her close and letting the child cry against her shoulder.

"Oh darling, I wish I wasn't," she said. "Your brother's very sick. I'm going to bring both of you to the hospital as soon as…"

"I'm not going," Edmund snapped. "I'm not going to any hospital!"

Lucy hiccoughed and looked at him, her eyes half-blinded by tears.

"Edmund, please try to be reasonable," Aunt Anna told him.

"I wan't to be with Peter NOW," Lucy wailed, and Aunt Anna rubbed her back, shushing her softly. "Let me go NOW!"

"Lucy!" Aunt Anna warned. "Edmund, I suppose it is entirely your choice, but I think your brother would appreciate it if you went to visit him."

"I can't, I won't, I…" Edmund clenched his fists at his sides. He hated hospitals, and hated even moreso that his brother ended up in one. Perfect Peter, the one everybody praised and admired. He couldn't believe that Peter—the good one, the strong one…had let himself go under like this.

"Lucy, go upstairs and get dressed," Anna told her niece, setting her down on the floor. "After I change, we'll go. They won't let us in the hospital dressed in our night clothes."

Lucy tore upstairs without giving Edmund a second glance, and, when she was out of earshot, Anna sat Edmund down at the kitchen table.

"Please, Edmund. I know this is difficult…"

"I'd rather stay here, thanks," Edmund growled…he wasn't about to give in. If he went to the hospital, it would mean this was real, and that Peter was in deed in danger.

Aunt Anna was at a loss; Edmund was becoming more and more difficult as he grew up. She touched his arm, and nodded at last.

"All right," she replied. "You may stay here. But do not leave the house when I'm gone…I won't have you running around London on your own."

Edmund pushed his chair back and stood up, storming out of the kitchen.

Lucy and her Aunt eventually dressed, and were ready to leave. Anna begged Lucy to have a bit of toast before they went out to the car, but when the child refused several times, she gave up.

"Is Edmund coming?" Lucy asked as they started for the door, and Aunt Anna glanced upstairs.

"No, dear," she replied sadly, and Lucy gasped.

"Why not? Doesn't he know?"

"Of course he does, darling, but I think Edmund needs to come to terms with the situation in his own way. We can't force him." She encouraged Lucy to step outside, not pleased when it was just as stuffy of a day as it had been all summer.

When they arrived at the hospital, Aunt Anna brought Lucy to the receptionist desk, where they found the directions to Peter's room. They reached it quickly, and found Mrs. Pevensie and Susan sitting on eitherside of the bed. Peter himself was under the covers, an oxygen mask over his face, and an IV implanted into his right arm.

"Helen?" Anna spoke quietly as the two of them entered, and her sister turned, eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion. Immediately, Helen stood and went to embrace Anna, and for a few moments, the two women stood hugging each other.

"Mama?" Lucy whispered, and rushed into her mother's arms, allowing her to hoist her into the air a bit.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Mrs. Pevensie choked, and Lucy buried her face against her mother's shoulder. "Where is Edmund?" she asked, noticing that he was nowhere to be found. Anna sat down beside Susan, who sat holding Peter's hand tightly.

"He wouldn't come," Anna replied. "I didn't feel it was right to force him, dear."

"Is he still at your house?"

Anna nodded. "Safe and sound, yes."

"Good." Helen sighed and turned to Peter, stroking her eldest son's cheek with her fingertips. "John had to go to the office shortly after we called," she said, and Anna touched Peter's forehead. The boy was still covered in spots, but they were fading somewhat. "Have you heard about Peter's friend at all?" she asked, and Helen shook her head.

"I'm afraid not," she said sadly.

"Peter was calling for Ethan a few times when he started getting real sick," Susan said. "But only once or twice." She watched Lucy rest her head against her brother's pillow, cuddling against his neck. "Peter, he—he fainted in my lap on the way here," she sobbed. "I was holding his hand, and he…he just…stopped moving." The tears began pouring down her cheeks, and she buried her face against the mattress, crying softly.

"You can't go, Peter…" she sobbed, wrapping her small arm around his middle. "You can't go, Peter…you promised me you wouldn't." she felt her mother stroke her hair, and allowed herself to be eased onto the bed beside him. "Please, Peter, don't leave me," she begged.

Ethan stirred ever so slightly after hours and hours of pure sleep. His head still felt horribly fuzzy, and his body ached…every joint, his chest, his head. "Pe'r," he croaked, and Mrs. Hunt stared Dr. Townsend. This was the first word Ethan had spoken for several days now, and it was barely audible.

"Darling, what is it?" Mrs. Hunt asked, smoothing her son's burning forehead. The fever was relentless, refusing to lower even a slight bit.

"Pe'r," Ethan repeated, his voice even fainter than the first time.

"What?" Dr. Townsend asked, and Mrs. Hunt stared at him.

"Peter," she breathed, squeezing Ethan's hand. "His best friend, Peter. That's what he's saying."

"Ah…" Dr. Townsend still didn't quite understand the significance, and Mrs. Hunt explained the situation.

"Both of them got sick together," she said softly. "Peter was spending a week with us, and he had to be sent home."

Ethan settled down again after muttering Peter's name several more times…or, barely, anyway. He was too exhausted and weak to say the full word. "Perhaps I should call the Pevensies and check on Peter," she said quietly, and Dr. Townsend insisted he would sit with Ethan while she went to use the telephone.

Unfortunately, no one was home when she answered, much to her chagrin. She felt her heart racing when she had a terrible feeling, and decided to look up the number for the local hospital in the phone book. "Hello, I am calling to speak with the mother of a patient…last name…Pevensie?" she paused, and closed her eyes when the receptionist transferred her.

"Helen, this is Angela Hunt," she said, and there was a long pause. "I tried your house but you weren't there, so I decided…how is he?" she sat down, feeling faint when Mrs. Pevensie revealed Peter's condition. He had officially slipped into a coma later that afternoon, the shock from the high fever officially catching up to him. "No, Ethan is not much better, I'm afraid. It does not look as though Ethan is going to have a positive outcome.." She closed her eyes, tears finally making their way down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry," she added, and after the two women exchanged goodbyes, Angela allowed herself to cry at last.


	12. Chapter 12: Angela's Ashes

Chapter 12

_Angela's Ashes_

Peter remained in a coma for several days, following his arrival to the hospital. Edmund still refused to leave Aunt Anna's, spending most of his time locked in his room.

"Edmund?" Anna knocked on her guest room door, lowering her head. "I'm going to visit your brother. Are you certain you do not wish to come with me?"

When he didn't answer, she sighed, and turned to leave. Helen hadn't left Peter's bedside once, and the poor woman was exhausted beyond words. Susan and Lucy spent as much time asthey could in the room, only going home at night with their father to rest.

Aunt Anna entered the sick room to find the three female Pevensie's sitting with the invalid once again. Helen smoothed her son's forehead, brushing his sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes. Susan held Peter's hand and gazed at his somewhat peaceful face, while Lucy cuddled with him on the pillow.

"I don't know what to do, Helen," Anna spoke, after hugging and kissing her sister, along with each of the children. "This is getting ridiculous. I assumed he needed at least a day or two, but a week?"

Helen nodded slowly. "When John comes, I'll see if he might be able to persuade Edmund to come out of the house." She turned back to Peter, who looked as though he were actually dead, lying so still under the covers. He had always been rather pale and thin for his age, but he seemed even moreso these days. The spots were still there, of course, but Anna could tell they were fading considerably.

"Lucy, Susan…perhaps you should come outside for a bit of fresh air," Anna suggested, for both girls looked as though they hadn't seen sunlight in ages. Lucy whimpered when her mother eased her away from her brother's body, and Susan stumbled after she stood from her chair.

Anna took the girls out into the hospital's garden, where they walked in silence for a while. Even though it was still so humid, Susan and Lucy felt as though they would never be warm again. They were so dreadfully cold, and Lucy even mentioned this.

"I am too," Susan whispered, wrapping a supporting arm around her younger sister's shoulder.

"Why won't Edmund come?" Lucy finally whirled around, her dark eyes rather ablaze. Her voice, though harsh, was hoarse from hours of crying.

"He's…" Anna began, but her niece cut her off.

"He hates Peter," Lucy growled. "He always has!"

Susan gasped. "That's not true, Lucy! You know it isn't!"

Lucy began crying again, and Anna helped the girls sit down on one of the stone benches along the walkway. "Edmund is dealing with grief in his own way, darling," she said softly. "He's always been rather solemn."

Lucy clung to Susan helplessly, great tears rolling down her cheeks, and splashing onto the stone below her feet.

"Then why are they always fighting?" she asked, once she managed to control herself somewhat. "If Edmund doesn't hate Peter, he would come. Peter's dying, and he's not here…"

Susan's eyes widened at her sister's words, and stared at her Aunt, horrified.

"Peter's not dying, love," Anna soothed. "He's not going to die."

Lucy was crying so hard at this point that she couldn't speak, and merely threw herself over Susan's lap, burying her face in the folds of her plaid skirt. Susan swallowed hard past a lump in her throat, and felt her Aunt Anna take her hand, squeezing it tightly.

"No one loves Peter like I do," Lucy squeaked, not lifting her head. "No one."

Susan bit her lip…as much as she hated to admit it, Lucy had a point. She and Peter had a bond that he didn't share with her or Edmund. It was different, stronger. Susan stroked Lucy's hair gently with her fingertips, feeling her younger sister's body shaking like a leaf.

"Peter hasn't woken in four days," She whispered. "He hasn't opened his eyes."

Aunt Anna frowned, and kissed Susan on the forehead. "Have faith, dear," she said softly.

After Lucy's tears faded to mere sniffles, Aunt Anna insisted that they continue walking along the path, allowing the fresh but somewhat stuffy air to calm them.

At the cottage by the sea, Mrs. Hunt knew Ethan was nto going to recover. As much as she tried to believe that the outcome of illness could not be dealt with in absolutes, a little voice in the back of her mind told her that this was going to be a case shrouded in black.

He lay so still, her little boy—her only child—his skin wax-like, and carrying a grayish hue. Dr. Townsend encouraged her to call a priest, for Ethan's breathing was growing shallower by the hour.

"Mum…" Ethan's voice, barely audible, broke through the deafening silence that filled the house. Angela took his hand, which was so thin and frail, she feared it would break like a china teacup. "I'm d-ying, aren't I?" he swallowed with difficulty, and she choked on a sob. She was almost afraid to answer, but he seemed to know what she was thinking by looking into her eyes. "I'll…I'll see Dad again, won't I?"

Angela pressed his hand to her lips, hearing the front door open and close. Dr. Townsend had returned with Father Pillack, and the two men walked very quietly up the steps.

"Pe-r," Ethan croaked, and Angela closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. He gulped for air; the mere process of breathing was becoming unbearable. "Peter…" he finally said his friend's name properly as the priest entered.

Angela immediately stood, and allowed Father Pillack to clasp her hands encouragingly.

"Ethan's condition is getting beyond human care," she whispered, and Dr. Townsend nodded sadly in agreement. Ethan had fallen once again into a fitful sleep when Father Pillack turned to him, and Angela followed the doctor to the other side of the room so the priest could have full access to her son.

"In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," Father Pillack began, making the sign of a cross over Ethan's still form.

"His final rites, Father," Angela finally spoke, after remaining silent for a good while. Father Pillack glanced at her with slight surprise, but realized from the look of acceptance in her eyes, that she'd been fighting with the decision to give her son up to God for the past few days.

"You are certain?" Father Pillack asked, and she nodded softly, holding tightly to her rosary beads, and to Dr. Townsend's arm. The doctor tried to ease her into a chair, afraid she might faint, but she refused.

"_Come to his assistance, Saint's of God…come forth to meet him, Angels of the Lord…"_

Father Pillack began to recite the traditional prayer before one's death, and Angela closed her eyes, taking in the words. Her husband had not the time to receive his final rites, for the trolly accident had been so sudden.

"_Angels of the Lord, Receiving his soul. Offering it in the Most High…"_

The normal noises of the house were silenced; even the sound of the summer night's breeze rattling the windows did not occur. Angela felt the blood pumping in her ears, seeing visions of her son as a toddler, learning to walk for the first time. She saw him running across the great fields, laughing and tumbling about in the grass; going off to boarding school and waving to her from the train window. His life was flashing before her eyes, and it had been so terribly short.

"_May Christ receive you, who has called you, and may the Angels bear you into Abraham's bossom…"_

Father Pillack finished the prayer, and sprinkled a few drops of holy water onto Ethan's forehead. He was still breathing when she opened her eyes; she could see Ethan's chest moving up and down ever so slightly under the quilt.

"_Hail Mary Full of grace, the Lord be with thee," Father Pillack began, and Angela started to repeat the prayer along with him. "Blessed are those among women, and blessed be the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…"_

Angela could barely feel the tiny rosary beads between her fingers; she moved away from Dr. Townsend and towards her son's bed, her dress billowing with a small breeze that blew through the small opening of the window.

"_Holy, Mary, mother of God…pray for us sinners…now and at the hour of our death, Amen."_

She fell to her knees at last, the rosary beads slipping to the ground and making a small tinkling noise. Dr. Townsend came to her immediately, and the three adults glanced upwards.

Father Pillack turned very slowly to Angela who began to stand again, hovering gently over Ethan's body. She reached her hand out to touch his cheek, finding it cold as ice. She collapsed, sobbing, at last, and pulled the body of her dead child to her breast.

Mr. Pevensie awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing shrilly, and found it to be seven in the morning when he checked the clock on the wall. He felt his heart stop in mid-beat, wondering who on Earth would be calling at this hour of the day. He knew neither of his employers would be this efficient, especially since he did not have to be to the office until four that day.

He dashed down the stairs as fast as he could, finding the phone with a bit of difficulty. "Hello?" he croaked, not sure if he wanted to know who was on the other end. He didn't notice that Edmund had followed him, and was standing at the doorway of the kitchen, watching anxiously.

Mr. Pevensie was very quiet as he listened to the speaker on the other end, and Edmund felt a sickening cold fill his stomach. _Peter was dead…Peter was dead…_

Susan and Lucy had joined him at this point, and all three siblings stood watching their father's facial expressions, not quite sure what to expect. He hung the phone up at last, after saying, "I am so terribly sorry…" and "thank you for calling." When he turned to see his children waiting for him, Mr. Pevensie moved very slowly towards them.

"What is it?" Susan asked, her voice hoarse with sleep. Lucy chewed on her finger anxiously, her eyes wide. "Is Peter…"

"Come," Mr. Pevensie told them. "We'll sit down in the living room. This is going to be very hard."

Lucy began crying immediately, blindinly following her father's lead into the parlor. They gathered around his feet, anxiously awaiting the news, and he grew very tearful.

"That was Mrs. Hunt," he said, his voice very low, and Susan gasped. "Ethan passed away early this morning."

The three children stared at one another, and Edmund's mouth opened and closed with surprise. Susan covered her face with her hands and allowed her father to pull her close, and Lucy sat with silent tears falling down her cheeks.

"He…he promised he'd b-build me a fairy house next summer," Lucy whispered, and Susan began to sob loudly, gripping her father's shirt between her fist. Edmund stood, backing away from the chair, taking very small, quick breaths.

"I'm sorry, Lucy, I'm so sorry," Mr. Pevensie said, and Lucy began hiccoughing, wrapping her tiny arms around her father's knees. He looked at Edmund, who was white and trembling, and looked as though he might pass out.

"Edmund?"

Edmund turned on his heel and fled out of the room, dashing up the stairs. Susan watched as he did this, and the girls jumped when he slammed the door to his bedroom shut. It took a moment for them to recover from the noise, and Susan immediately buried her face against her father's chest again. She adored Ethan, and the fact that it was Peter's one true friend, broke her heart.

"What are we g-going to t-tell P-Peter?" Lucy stuttered, and Mr. Pevensie touched his youngest daughter's hair.

"I am afraid it would not be the right time to tell him," he said, and Susan gulped.

"He's unconscious, Lucy," she whispered, wiping her eyes, and accepting a handkerchief from her father. "He won't be able to hear us."

"I wouldn't say that," Mr. Pevensie told them quietly. "but I would rather not say anything until…"

"He'll go into shock," Susan said, after blowing her nose. "He won't be able to handle it. I know Peter…he gets very upset very easily."

"Oh Peter," Lucy wailed. "If—If Ethan died, then..."

"Don't say that," Susan snapped. "Don't you d-dare say it!"

"I want to go back to the hospital," Lucy choked. "I wan't to be with Peter."

Mr. Pevensie lifted his youngest daughter onto his lap, holding both of his children. He encouraged them to go and dress, and then went to check on Edmund.

As the day went on, dark, threatening clouds filled the once bright blue sky. Mrs. Pevensie continued to keep her vigil at Peter's bedside, listening to the faint hissing of the oxygen tank. She watched for the slightest flutter of his eyes under their lids, the slightest movement of his fingers; but nothing occurred.

Rain began to fall heavily upon the city; sheets of water rushing down the window panes. "Darling," she whispered when she was alone, with no one to hear her. "Mother is here." She touched his smoothe cheek, jumping a little as a flash of lightening struck through the sky, followed by a great clap of thunder. "We love you very much," she added. "Daddy, Susan, Edmund and Lucy." She swallowed, taking his hand, and pressing it against her cheek.

She felt tears welling in her eyes, wanting to see her son's blue eyes gazing into hers again. "But we can't be selfish," she added. "If God wishes to have you, then you may go to him. Do not worry about us, Peter." Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs, and she was so busy crying, that she did not see her family entering the room at last.

"Helen," John spoke in a very somber voice, and she looked up. Immediately, she knew something was wrong, and released Peter's hand, standing very slowly. Lucy immediately dashed across the room to the bed and crawled onto the mattress, curling against her brother's side.

"Angela Hunt called this morning," he said softly, and Helen covered her mouth with her hands.

"Oh God," she breathed, and allowed her to lean against him.

Susan positioned herself in her usual chair, taking Peter's hand, and watching as Lucy touched Peter's cheek with the tip of her nose. "Peter, we need you," she whispered, after, their father took their mother out into the hall to express her grief. "Peter, we love you."

Susan suddenly found herself quoting one of Peter's favorite poems, one he read to Lucy all the time when they were younger:

"_Twas brillig and the slithy toves,_

_Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;_

_All mimsy were the borogroves, _

_And the mome raths outgrabe…"_

Lucy kept her arm around Peter's waist, refusing to let her brother go. "I'm yours, Peter, I am," she whispered into his ear. "I'm your Lucy. You remember, don't you?"

Susan gulped as another clap of thunder filled the air, and lighteing illuminated the room.

"We need you, Peter," she begged, resting her forehead against the edge of the bed. "We need you…"


	13. Chapter 13: Eyes Wide Shut

Chapter 13

_Eyes Wide Shut_

Helen continued to sit beside Peter all through the night, and into the next morning. Of course, this was no different than what she had been doing all week, but something was different. Not with Peter, for he still hadn't moved, but there was a stronger power at work in the room.

"Darling," she spoke softly, tears sliding down her cheeks, and onto his blankets. "Mother's here." She kissed his cheek, being mindful of Lucy who still lay curled into a ball beside him, and realized with a start that his skin was much cooler. Susan stirred from where she lay curled up in her chair, her head resting against the mattress. The girls convinced their mother to spend the night with Peter, especially after finding out the dreadful news of Ethan's death. They felt as though they had to be with him, even if he didn't know anything had happened yet.

Lucy reached out her small, pudgy hand, and grasped the sleeve of Peter's nightshirt. Her other hand was attached to her mouth; her thumb in particular, and she gave it a very small suck.

Helen didn't know what to think anymore; the doctors were at a loss of what to do. They tried every method to rouse Peter that possibly existed, and nothing was working. She covered her face with her hands, and began to cry softly at last, her sobs echoing along the walls.

The noise awoke Susan, who cringed when she moved her head; her neck ached from the strange position she had to lay in. John eventually came into the room very slowly, having gone home to spend the night with Edmund, who still couldn't bring himself to come to the hospital. His parents had given up on begging, and decided that his own conscience would tell him what to do.

"Mum," Susan whispered, standing up and going to hug her. Mrs. Pevensie clung to her eldest daughter, feeling her husband put a hand on her shoulder.

_Peter was in darkness; he had been in darkness forever, it seemed. He could hear the voices of his family swirling around him, but they were nowhere to be found. _

"_Peter." A deep, male voice spoke, and he saw the outline of what looked like a great animal in the distance, shrouded in bright light. He cupped his hand over his eyes, momentarily blinded, and lowered them again when the light grew softer. The shape was gone, but the light was still there, a glowing sphere. "It is time to go home, my Son. It is time to return to your family. You are not ready."_

"_Grandpa?" Peter croaked, not knowing to whom the voice belonged, and the only male relative who died recently was his grandfather. _

"_They need you, Peter," the voice replied, not answering his question. "Go back to them." The light was growing fainter, fainter…_

Lucy felt her brother's movement first, and jolted awake with a gasp. She released her grip on his sleeve and slowly lifted her head, peering at his face. She could hear her parents and sister crying softly, and turned to see them holding each other helplessly.

"Mama?" Lucy said, and her mother parted from Susan, glancing at the youngest of the children. "Look," she breathed, and when they focused on Peter, Helen saw his hands move.

"Oh, John," she breathed, feeling faint, and he went to the side of the bed, touching Peter's forehead.

"Peter?" he asked, his voice very calm. "Are you coming back, son?"

Lucy bit her lip, tears filling her eyes, and she got on her knees, being careful not to jostle her brother too much.

"Peter," Susan breathed, and everyone gathered around him, watching as his eyes fluttered. "You can do it," she encouraged, and took Peter's other wrist.

"John, go and fetch the doctor, quickly," Helen ordered, and her husband rushed out of the room. The three Pevensie females watched anxiously as Peter struggled between his consciousness and unconsciousness, and Lucy covered her mouth with her hands when his eyes opened very slowly.

Susan sobbed softly, touching his cheek, and she kissed his forehead, watching as her mother pulled her son into her arms, cradling him. "My baby," she whispered, and Lucy put a hand on Peter's back, which was soaked with sweat from the raging fever he'd suffered through all week.

"M..um?" Peter croaked, and after she released him, she eased his body back onto the pillows.

"Don't try to talk, darling," she said. "you're still too weak."

Peter glanced to his right and saw Lucy at his shoulder, and smiled faintly. "Lu," he whispered, and she bit her lip, burying her face against his stomach. He turned to Susan next, and watched as she laughed quietly with relief. Dr. Albert came in at last, his face white with anxiety.

"Thank heavens," he breathed, when he saw Peter awake, and Mr. Pevensie went to embrace his son.

"My boy, my boy," he said, and Peter gulped. He saw his father, his mother, and his sisters, but when he peered around the hospital room, he did not see Edmund.

"Where's…Ed?" his voice was so hoarse, and he was concerned when everyone's expressions changed.

"Shshhh," Susan said, stroking his forehead. "You need to rest, Peter."

Lucy frowned, furious with Edmund for not coming to see him. She hugged Peter again, and felt him touch her head, his fingers still very frail.

"This was a pure miracle," Dr. Albert admitted, clasping both Pevensie adults' hands.

"All of the praying we did worked, didn't it, Mummy?" Lucy asked, once she was sitting up again, and Susan smiled.

"Yes it did, sweetheart," Mrs. Pevensie whispered, holding tightly onto her husband's waist. She felt so drained from lack of sleep, and could barely stand without swaying.

"Where's Ed?" Peter repeated, and everyone turned to him, staring.

"He's not here, darling," Mrs. Pevensie told her son, who blinked.

"Is he all right?"

"Peter, we should not be talking of this now. You are going to over exert yourself," she warned, and he shook his head frantically.

"Is Edmund all right? Please, tell me…" he felt Susan take his hand, and Lucy lowered her head.

"He's all right," she replied. "But he wouldn't come."

Peter stared at her, his mouth opening and closing. "What d'you mean?" he asked, and Mr. Pevensie shook his head.

"Peter," he said, and Susan tried to appear calm and collected.

"Edmund has had a difficult time dealing with this, Peter, so he's wanted to be alone," he said, and Peter swallowed. From the expressions of great relief on the faces of his family members, he had clearly been in danger.

"Thirsty," Peter whispered, laying back down against the pillows; he was still so tired.

"I'll get it," Lucy offered, sliding to the floor, and dashed to the wash closet for a glass.

"Sweetheart," Mrs. Pevensie said quietly, "You know how Edmund is with this sort of thing."

"What happened to me, Mum?" Peter croaked, and she squeezed his arm gently. He couldn't make sense of anything that had happened. He began coughing roughly, allowing his father to rub his back soothingly, and watched as Lucy dashed across the room with the water. She nearly spilled it as she tripped, and handed it to Susan.

"I would not recommend that you speak very much, lad," Dr. Albert said, after Susan eased the glass against Peter's cracked lips, allowing him to sip slowly from it. When he was finished, Susan set the glass aside, and took his hand again.

"You left us for a bit," Mrs. Pevensie replied, when she found him looking at her again. "But you're safe and sound, now."

Lucy grinned as Peter managed to ruffle her slightly sleep-tousseled hair, and she stuck out her tongue. "Sorry," he apologized, and Mr. Pevensie chuckled.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, son," he said, sitting down. "You're going to be all right, and that's the important thing."

Peter sniffed and turned to Susan, who had her eyes downcast, and touched her on the cheek. She managed another faint smile at him, and glanced towards the window. The heavy rain from the night before ceased at last, and a small streak of sunlight broke through the stormy clouds.

Dr. Albert took Peter's temperature after everyone was settled, grateful to find that it was back to normal again, or close enough. "A couple of degrees higher than I'd like, but it's at a safe point," he said, and Peter shivered a little, pulling the blankets closer to his neck. Lucy had slid beneath them with him, and he wrapped the quilt around her small body, allowing her to move close to his side.

"I would recommend pure sleep for the next couple of hours," Dr. Ablert told Peter. "You will be able to go home tomorrow, but after that, I would not recommend any strenuous activity."

Peter closed his eyes, his throat still sore, and realized the itching and burning sensations on his skin had abated. He shivered when Lucy's bare feet touched his shin, and he turned towards her, sighing softly. He couldn't wrap his head around Edmund's absence, but knowing his brother's personality, Edmund probably hadn't been there at all.

He felt Lucy clasp her hand against his sleeve again, and he shifted a little. Peter felt terribly drained, not wanting to do or say much.

Peter spent the rest of the day in the hospital as instructed, still fighting fits of coughing. His fever had gone and did not return, but the effects of the illness were distinct. He was terribly thin, and dark circles were under his eyes.

"Will I be able to walk again?" he asked, for raising an arm was exhausting.

"Of course," Dr. Albert replied. "We are just being cautious, my boy, just cautious. You will regain all…" he paused, and Peter raised an eyebrow. "Most of your strength in time."

Mrs. Pevensie took her husband's hand in hers, and the two of them glanced at each other.

"Most?" Peter wet his dry lips.

"The fever weakened you considerably, so it will be a while before you will feel strong again. And I'm not sure you'll gain your full strength as you had before."

"Of course, Peter's never been as active as most boys his age," Mrs. Pevensie spoke up, and Susan and Lucy gave each other small smiles. Peter the bookworm he was and always would be. Peter nodded slowly and glanced at his parents, who were still holding onto each other.

He soon grew too tired to continue the conversation, and decided to drift off again.

It wasn't until the following evening that the doctor pronounced him well enough to travel, and he was given a wheel chair to use around the house/outdoors. Peter and his parents thanked Dr. Albert for all of his help, and the middle-aged physician waved as they left the building.

"It's so good that you're going to be home again, Peter!" Lucy said, skipping down the walkway as they headed towards the car, and beamed when her father lifted him carefully out of the wheel chair and eased him into the backseat. She cuddled up to him, not wanting to leave his side for a moment. After all, she'd almost lost her brother once, and couldn't bare the thought of going through that again.

Peter stroked her hair, allowing her to lay across his lap, and cuddled Susan who leaned her head against his shoulder when they began moving.

He slept most of the journey, still slightly out of it when they arrived home. He clung to his father's neck when he was carried up the walk, and his mother carried the wheel chair.

Edmund ran down the stairs when the front door opened, and stood at the foot of them when he saw the rest of his family coming in. Peter looked terrible; so frail, and much smaller than he remembered.

"Stand to the side, Edmund," Mr. Pevensie announced, and Peter coughed, groaning softly. He was too weary to open his eyes; the swaying motion of his father's arms was soothing.

"He's going to be all right," Mrs. Pevensie told her youngest son, patting him on the head softly. Edmund frowned, but followed his mother upstairs. He found his father easing Peter into bed, and when he sensed his presence, Mr. Pevensie turned.

"Your brother needs his rest, Edmund. We have to keep the house quiet tonight."

Peter squirmed a little as he tried to get comfortable under the covers, and Edmund took this a sign to scurry back to his room. When he entered it, he felt his relief turning to sudden anger, and he kicked his chair violently.

_I almost lost you, you slimy git! _He thought bitterly, and cringed at the shooting pain in his foot. At last, he flung himself against his bed, sobbing into the pillows.

Peter spent the rest of that evening resting, as well as most of the next day. He was actually able to sit around lunch time, and allowed Susan to feed him a bowl of broth. He was interrupted from it when Edmund peered in, and the two of them stared at each other awkwardly.

"Should I um…" Susan bit her lip, and Peter glanced at her. "Do you want me to go?" she asked, and he smiled faintly.

"If you don't mind, Su," he replied, and she stood.

"Are you done with your soup?" she added, and he nodded; he'd taken down at least half of the bowl. When Susan took the bowl out of the room, she gave Edmund a warning look, and Peter watched as she disappeared around the corner.

For a moment, neither brother said a single word, and it was a very tense silence.

"Why didn't you come, Edmund?" Peter asked at last, his voice still a bit strained from the coughing. "Susan and Lucy were there when I woke up, but not you. Why?"

Edmund continued to stand very still, his eyes fixed on his brother's hurt expression.

"What difference did it make?" he replied coolly, and Peter blinked, sitting up a bit straighter.

"I almost died, Ed! I was _dying!_ Didn't you care? You wouldn't have been able to say goodbye to me…" he was shaking, and clenched his fists at his sides. Edmund glared at Peter, and stormed across the room, so he was only a few inches from his brother's bed.

"You think you're the special one, don't you, Peter? You soak it all up, all the praise from Mum and Dad, and from teachers at school…" he swallowed. "You like it. P'raps this will have taught you a lesson, that you're not so perfect after all."

Pete stared, his mouth wide open. Edmund's insults shot straight to his heart, but before he could retort, Edmund moved even closer.

"I hate you," Edmund screamed. "I hate you for doing this to us!" he was crying now, but he didn't care.

When Peter managed to find his voice, he found his own eyes filling with tears of hurt. "Do you think I chose to get sick, Edmund?" he asked.

"If you hadn't gone to the seashore, you wouldn't have!"

"I do have a life outside of this family, Ed!" Peter yelled back, though his shouting was a bit more quiet.

Edmund's face was bright red. "Oh really? Well, you know what? I think you care more about Ethan than you do about me. I wish you'd died along with him!" he was breathing hard, and Peter stared at him.

"Get out," he hissed. "GET OUT!"

Edmund turned on his heel and stormed off, just as Susan came running to see what was wrong. She jumped when Edmund pushed past her, and peered into the room to find Peter staring blankly at the wall.

"Peter?" she asked softly, after a few moments of silence, and he turned to her.

"Su…" he swallowed. "Where is Ethan?"

Susan stared, swallowing hard past a lump that was forming in her throat. She was about to respond when Mrs. Pevensie dashed up the steps and into the room, having heard the yelling.

"What is going on in…" she paused and saw Susan standing there.

"Edmund and Peter had a big row," Susan whispered. "He…" she gulped, covered her face with her hands, and rushed out crying softly. Peter looked at his mother anxiously, his hands wrapped tightly around the blankets.

"Mum…" he croaked. "What happened to Ethan?"

Mrs. Pevensie closed her eyes, having a bad feeling Edmund, out of impulse, let the news slip. She came across the room and sat down beside her son's bed, taking his hand.

"We were hoping you would not have to find out like this," she said softly, and Peter wet his lips. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry…"

Peter released his grip from his mother's hand, and looked down at his lap. "He's…he's dead?" he squeaked, and she stroked his hair, attempting to pull him into a hug.

"He died the night before you woke up, Peter."

Peter felt sick; his only true friend was dead. Ethan was dead; he was never going to see him again. For a moment or two he was silent, and then he lifted his head, his eyes full of tears.

"I…I want to be alone, Mum," he whispered, and she kissed his forehead, unable to imgagine the agony her son was going through in his heart. "Mum, please," he begged, turning away. She glanced over her shoulder to see Lucy standing in the doorway and chewing on her finger, looking anxious…she'd heard the yelling upstairs as well.

"We'll be downstairs if you need us, sweetheart," she said softly, and Peter didn't respond.

Mrs. Pevensie led Lucy out of the room gently, shaking her head when she saw that Edmund had slammed his door shut. She knew her husband would have to reprimand him for such behavior when he arrived home from the publishing house, but that of course, would be left until morning.


	14. Chapter 14: A Valley of Shadows

Chapter 14

_A Valley of Shadows_

Edmund had never seen his father so furious when he marched him to his bedroom after breakfast the following morning. Peter grew feverish again through the night, tossing and turning fitfully in his sleep.

"What were you thinking?" Mr. Pevensie yelled, shaking his youngest son once the door closed. "You knew how vulnerable Peter was! Do you not even have the least bit of common decency your mother and I have been teaching all of you? Or have you completely ignored us? What?"

Edmund sat on the edge of his bed, staring up at his father with blank eyes. He was still furious with Peter for having put them through such torment, for having to stay at Aunt Anna's when clearly he had every capability of helping his parents take care of his brother. "If Peter relapses, Edmund, we are holding you accountable," Mr. Pevensie growled. "He's already running a temperature again after it took so long to break. I insist you think about what you've done, and I hope the conclusion you reach is a bit more intelligent than the behavior you displayed."

Edmund stared as his father walked out, slamming the door behind him, and he took a shaky breath. He looked at the photograph take of the six Pevensies the previous year, and saw Peter standing behind him, beaming with pride at the camera.

Thankfully Peter did not actually relapse, but he sunk into a deep depression over the next couple of days. He refused to eat or drink, and did not speak when one of his family members came into the room to check on him. When he wasn't sleeping and curled into a tiny ball beneath the blankets, he stared blankly out the window, watching as the sun rose and set, day in and day out.

_"What d'you want to be when you grow up, Ethan?"_

_"I want to be a doctor, like Dad."_

Peter felt tears filling his eyes as he remembered one of their last real conversations together. They'd spoken about growing old together, but that was not going to happen. Ethan was dead- he was gone, and he was never coming back. The reality of the situation made him feel numb, and so cold. Without Ethan, was it even worth continuing to live?

On the third day of his ghost-like attitude, the Pevensie parents stood in the kitchen discussing the situation. "I'm getting worried, John…Peter is going to make himself sick all over again if he keeps this up. He's not taking in any food, and he's already half-starved from the measles."

"This is very hard on him, Helen. But I agree, it is getting to a dangerous point. We'll try to coax him into eating a bit of supper this evening, and if he doesn't take that, then I fear we may have to take him back to the hospital until he snaps out of it."

"If he does," Mrs. Pevensie whispered, and felt her husband hug her tightly.

Lucy, meanwhile, sat by her brother's bed despite the fact that he refused to look at her speak to her, and kept a sketch pad on her knees. She worked hard on a sketch, her tongue sticking out slightly from the corner of her mouth. When Susan came into the room with a tray, she encouraged Lucy to let them alone for a time.

"What are you drawing?" she asked, glancing at Peter, who was laying on his side with his back to them.

"Can't tell you," Lucy whispered. "It's a secret."

Susan raised an eyebrow as her little sister closed the pad and scurried out of the room, looking sadly at her brother as she went into the hall. When she was gone, Susan sat down on the chair, and pulled it closer to the bedside.

"Mum made you some chicken soup and a biscuit for supper," she said softly, not surprised when Peter refused to move. "Please, Peter…you have to eat something. Even take in a bit of tea, just how you like it, with a teaspoon of cream." She held the teacup between her fingers, and felt her lips trembling when Peter continued to lay very still. The only sign that he was still alive, was the very small up and down movement of the blankets. "All right," Susan added after a few moments of silence, and set the tray on the nighstand. She smoothed her skirt and folded her hands on her lap. "Fine, then… I'm going to sit right here until you say you're hungry."

Peter knew she was there; his eyes were open, but he wet his lips and swallowed, his throat painful and swollen from crying.

_You don't understand, _he thought. Neither of his family did. _My best friend is dead. My only friend is dead. _Ethan was in deed Peter's one true friend. Sure, he had a number of acquaintances at the boarding school, but they came and went. Ethan stuck by him no matter what happened, and Peter refused to let him go that easily. He had been taken away too fast; it wasn't fair!

He coughed weakly, shifting under the covers, and Susan felt her heart constrict.

"Peter, please," she whispered, her eyes watering. "You're scaring me."

When Mrs. Hunt called the fourth day after Peter discovered the news of Ethan's passing, she informed Mr. Pevensie of the funeral arrangements. "I have decided cremating him will be best," she said, her voice very strained. "however, I do want to have an open casket ceremony, so he may be honored."

"I understand," Mr. Pevensie replied. "Angela, I…we are fearing for Peter's health over the matter. I realize it is normal to grieve after such a loss, but I think his depression is quite serious."

Mrs. Hunt was quiet; she had a feeling Peter would react very strongly to the news, for they had been having such a good time before the tragic circumstances. "Perhaps I may be able to help," she said softly after a few moments of silence, and Mr. Pevensie cleared his throat, watching as Lucy sat at the kitchen table, working on her drawing again.

"I couldn't ask you to do…"

"It is the least I can do, John. The boys were inseparable, and if I know Peter, loosing Ethan is probably like loosing a part of himself."

Mrs .Pevensie came to stand beside her husband, wrapping an arm around his waist, and he held her tight.

"Thank you," he replied. "We would appreciate it." When he hung up, he looked at Helen. "Angela Hunt is coming to see Peter," she said, and Lucy lifted her head from her work, her eyes wide.

"Oh, John," Helen breathed. "Is that necessary? The poor woman."

"I think it is," John replied seriously. "I think Peter needs to talk to her."

Mrs. Hunt arrived the next morning, dressed in black, and was immediately greeted by Mrs. Pevensie with a strong hug. "I am so sorry," she replied, and Angela smiled faintly, allowing Peter's mother to lead her into the kitchen.

Susan and Lucy each hugged her as well, and Edmund merely stared, unsure of what to do or say. He had already caused enough damage to the family, and they were not really speaking to him--only when necessary.

"Peter is up in his room," Mrs. Pevensie explained. "He's making himself ill all over again by not eating."

Mrs. Hunt clucked her tongue sorrowfully, and made her way up the steps to the sick boy's bedroom, finding him curled into a ball, his blanket pulled over his head. She reached over and touched his shoulder, rubbing it gently. "I'm sorry you're feeling like this, dear," she said softly, and he suddenly jolted, startled by her voice. He let out a soft moan and turned very carefully over on his back, revealing a flushed face and red-rimmed eyes.

"Mrs…" he croaked, his voice hoarse, "Mrs. Hunt?" he allowed her to ease him into a sitting position, and she pulled him into a tight hug.

"Your parents are very worried, Peter," she said. "Why aren't you eating, honey?"

He shrugged. "Not hungry. Don't see the point," he added, and she smiled faintly.

"It is not easy for me either," she replied. "Peter, I lost my husband and my son a little over a year apart. I know what you are going through, darling…I know how much it hurts."

He swallowed, allowing her to take his hand, and lowered his head. "Ethan would not want you to be like this," she continued. "He was in so much pain, Peter."

"But why did he have to die?" Peter whispered. "He was too young…"

"God clearly wanted him for some greater purpose," she replied. "What that is, we'll never know until we see him again in heaven. But you are still alive, Peter, and you have a family who loves you dearly. It is hurting them terribly to see you wasting away like this."

Peter choked on a sob, and rested his head against her chest. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him, watching as he blew his nose and wiped his eyes. "Will you take a sip of water for me?" she asked, taking the glass from the nightstand and handing it to him. "And I would appreciate it if you did attend Ethan's funeral next week. I will warn you that it is going to be an open casket, so you will see the body, but I think it is a good way for you to receive a bit of closure."

Peter sipped very slowly from the glass, hiccoughing between swallows. The water tasted so sweet on his tongue, and so refreshing as it slid down his throat.

"I will," he croaked. "I promise." He sniffled and heard a noise, seeing Lucy standing in the doorway. "Oh Lu," he whispered, parting from Mrs. Hunt and opening his arms wide. Lucy gasped, dropping her sketch pad, and immediately flew across the room and into them. She allowed him to hold her close, and burry his nose against her hair.

"I suppose I will go and tell your mother that it will be all right, then?" Mrs. Hunt asked, and Peter lifted his head, nodding.

"Thank you," he said, and she kissed his cheek.

When she left the room, Lucy burried her face against her brother's chest, so grateful to have him recognize her. "I was so scared," she choked. "I was so scared, Peter."

He rubbed her back gently and released his grip, shivering a little. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I've been so selfish." He blew out his breath, allowing her to take his hand. When his mother came upstairs a few minutes later, he embraced her as well, and closed his eyes when he heard her cry softly.

"Might I have some soup, Mum?" he asked in a very quiet voice, and she gazed into his eyes.

"Thank God," she breathed. "Oh, thank God." She kissed his forehead. "Of course you may have some soup, sweetheart. You had us worried half to death." She brushed his hair away from his eyes, checking for a fever. "And your temperature seems to be back to normal again."

Peter rubbed his nose with the handkerchief, feeling very drained. "Mum, I…I do want to go to the funeral," he said softly. "I owe Ethan that much."

Mrs. Pevensie frowned. "Well, you're still so weak from your illness, baby, so I'm not sure if that will be possible," she said. He hadn't gotten out of bed since his return from the hospital, and if the funeral was to be held Monday afternoon, she did not know how he was going to make it…for it was already Thursday.

"Mum, please let me go," Peter begged. "I don't have to stay for all of it. But I just want to see…" he swallowed. "I know about the body," he added quietly, and his mother gave him another hug and kiss. "B-but…it j-just looks like they're sleeping right?" He hadn't been to a funeral before, or seen a dead body, either. Of course, after reading all sorts of adventure stories, the first image that came to mind was one that was bruised and beaten after a battle or a nasty duel. However, Ethan certainly hadn't been in a fight.

Mrs. Pevensie smiled weakly. "Yes, it does. All right, darling. But right now, you must focus on resting. You've been through quite an ordeal." She stood, and touched Lucy on the shoulder. "What kind of soup would you like?"

He thought for a moment, not sure what his stomach would be able to handle at this point. "I suppose chicken soup," he replied, and she nodded.

"Lucy, let your brother rest," she said, and Peter shook his head.

"I want her to stay with me tonight," he said, and Lucy opened her mouth and closed it again. "Will you, Lu?" he added, and she nodded eagerly, crawling into the bed and under the covers.

Mrs. Pevensie shook her head slowly and picked up the sketch pad that had fallen on the floor, setting it on top of Peter's dresser. When she was out of ear shot, Lucy looked at him with a small smile. "Ethan's in heaven, Peter," she said, and he sniffed, laying back against the pillows. "He's watching over you, I know it. He'll make sure you're okay."

Peter kissed her cheek and allowed her to lay against his shoulder. He took Mrs. Hunt's words into consideration, and he knew Ethan would want him to continue living as he had been before.

He and Lucy lay in silence until their mother returned with the bowl of broth, and she instructed Lucy to be very careful when she fed it to her brother. Peter took very small spoonfuls, enjoying the feeling of the hot liquid as it coated his empty stomach. He soon grew weary again, and, when he finished most of the bowl, decided that it was time to go back to sleep.

"I love you, Peter," Lucy whispered as he snuggled down under the covers, making sure Lucy had enough room on her side of the bed.

"Love you too, Lu," he whispred, and she turned out the lamp, allowing the room to dissolve into darkness.


	15. Chapter 15: A Time to Mourn

Chapter 15

_A Time to Mourn_

Peter began to regain his strength again, but as Dr. Albert warned the Pevensies, it was going to be a long time before he felt like his old self. When he was ready, he was carried downstairs and joined his family in the parlor in the evenings.

The night before Ethan's funeral, he was very quiet, but not nearly as quiet as when he'd been so terribly depressed. He sat by the window and gazed over the miniature lawn, watching as an occasional car drove past. His legs were covered with a spare patchwork quilt, for even though it was still warm, the night breeze was a bit cool.

Edmund hadn't said very much either; the others were indifferent towards him rather than furious at this point. Lucy watched Peter from where she sat on the piano bench, holding the sketch pad on her lap.

"It'll be all right, Peter," she said softly, and he turned to her, smiling weakly.

"You can come and sit with me, Lu," he encouraged. Susan glanced up from where she sat with her mother doing her needlepoint and occasionally sipping from a cup of tea, and watched as their youngest sibling hopped down from the bench, and crawled onto the couch beside him.

"Aren't you ever going to show us what you've been drawing all this time?" Mr. Pevensie chuckled, for his daughter hadn't stopped her sketch since her brother returned home from the hospital. She was very secretive about it, and refused to give the slightest hint of a clue as to the subject.

"Only if Peter wants to see it first," she replied, and Mrs. Pevensie laughed gently, stroking Edmund's hair as he leaned against her knees on the floor.

"Is it for me?" he asked curiously, and she wet her lips, fingering the leather binding on the portfolio.

"Sort of," she said. "I'm scared it'll make you sad again."

Peter looked at his parents, who glanced at each other, and then he turned back to his sister. "Lucy, I don't think I'm going to stop being sad for a while," he admitted, and she lowered her head. "You don't have to be afraid of showing me anything."

Edmund smirked a little as Lucy clutched the pad to her chest, and finally handed it to Peter carefully. "It's still not finished," she warned. "I wasn't even sure if I wanted to do this anymore, but…"

Peter flipped the portfolio open, and found a rather brilliant sketch of a tiny little house in a field.

"Is that our cottage?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes playfully.

"Don't be silly," she teased. "it's much too small! Don't you remember…Ethan…he told me to draw the fairy house we were going to build next summer."

Peter stared at her, and the room grew silent, as everyone held their breaths, waiting for his reaction.

"_Next summer we'll have to build a fairy house!" Lucy told Ethan, who nearly choked into his cup of tea._

"_A what?" he asked, and she looked at him._

"_I've been thinking that I haven't seen a real fairy yet, but I know they have to be real. They just have to be." She looked at Peter, who was trying not to laugh, and then turned to Ethan. "I thought that a house might make them want to come."_

_Ethan looked at her. "I would like to do that, Lucy. Maybe your project over the next year could be to draw what you think the house should look like, and next summer, we'll see what we can put together to make one."_

"Oh, Lu, now you've gone and done it," Susan breathed as she saw Peter's eyes misting, and frowned when he immediately wiped them with the heel of his hand.

"I…I didn't want to show him tonight," she whimpered, watching as Peter immediately shut the portfolio and handed it back to her. Mrs. Pevensie moved Edmund slightly so she could stand when he burried his face in his arms.

"Shhhshh," she soothed, coming over to stroke his hair and kiss his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Peter," Lucy squeaked. "Don't cry," she begged, and when he managed to calm down a little, he accepted a handkerchief from his mother.

"Sorry," he croaked, blowing his nose. "I didn't mean…"

Mrs. Pevensie kissed his cheek. "Darling, it's all right." She brushed his tears away with her thumbs, and he swallowed, allowing Lucy to take his free hand that wasn't holding onto the cloth.

"It's beautiful, Lu," Peter whispered once he could find his voice. "I'm sorry Ethan's not able to keep his promise and help you build it."

Lucy bit her lip, and gazed into her brother's bright blue eyes. "I know he would have kept his promise if he could," she said softly. "but Peter, I…I want _you_ to help me build the fairy house. When you're better, of course."

Peter sniffed wearily, and glanced at his father, who lowered his newspaper.

"I think that would be a wonderful project for both of you," Mrs. Pevensie agreed. "I do believe Ethan would have wanted it to happen."

Peter began coughing again, which gave way to a bit of wheezing. Susan, who was sitting closest to him, began rubbing his back comfortingly. Lucy's own eyes were wide with worry as he struggled to breathe properly for a moment, gripping onto the edge of the couch for support.

"Easy, Peter," Edmund spoke up, and Peter glanced at him as the coughs ceased, and he felt his heart racing.

"Here, love," Mrs. Pevensie poured her son a fresh cup of tea, adding a spoonful of cream as he preferred, and carried it over. "Perhaps we should bring you back up to bed soon; it is going to be a very long day tomorrow."

Peter sneezed, nearly knocking Lucy off of the couch, and everyone but Edmund blessed him afterwards.

"I think you're right," Mr. Pevensie agreed. "After you drink your tea, I'll carry you back upstairs."

Peter groaned; he was so tired of laying in bed, and preferred to be in the company of his family downstairs. He felt too lonely in his bedroom, even though he almost always had Lucy or Susan sitting with him during the day.

"D-do I have to M-Mum?" he asked in the midst of a yawn, and she smiled at him.

"You're still sick, Peter," she replied, and he sipped carefully from his teacup.

When he drank as much as he could, Mr. Pevensie came over to lift him into his arms, and chuckled when he realized just how light his eldest son had become since his illness. "Come and kiss Peter good night," he added, and Susan immediately set her work down and went to peck a kiss on her brother's cheek. Lucy did the same, and Edmund wrinkled his nose.

"G'night," he said, waving hastily, and Peter rolled his eyes a little.

"Good night, dear," Mrs. Pevensie said once Peter clung to his father's neck for support, and they watched as he was carried out of the parlor.

When he got upstairs and under the covers, Mr. Pevensie took his son's hand, which was still frail. "Tomorrow is probably going to be very difficult for you, Peter," he said. "You still have the option to change your mind if you're not feeling well enough."

Peter bundled beanth his blankets, and shook his head. "I owe Ethan that much," he replied. "I couldn't not go. He'd…he'd come to mine." He swallowed, and felt his father place a gentle hand on his head.

"We're all going to be there for you, son."

Peter gave his father a great hug, and allowed him to fluff his pillows a bit. When he began to drift off, Mr. Pevensie turned off the lamp, and listened as his son's breathing grew steady. He walked out of the bedroom and shut the door halfway, meeting his wife at the top of the stairs.

"He's sound asleep," he whispered, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Peter has gone through so much, John," she said. "More than he should be expected to handle at his age."

Mr. Pevensie squeezed her arm. "Life does not always provide us with easy paths to take," he replied, as the other children made their way to their bedrooms. Lucy peeked in on her brother, watching as he slept, and her mother encouraged her to come away.

The day of Ethan's funeral dawned bright and sunny, the stuffy weather finally giving way to a cool, pleasant breeze.

Peter was up early, and Susan helped him into his black mourning suit and tie.

"How are you doing?" he asked her once they were waiting for the others to finish getting ready, and she shrugged. Susan wore a black dress with short, puffed sleeves that went down to her ankles.

"I don't know," she admitted weakly. "but I'm worried for you, Peter." He squeezed her hand comfortingly as Lucy came into the room, wearing a black dress as well. However, black was not a becoming color on his little sister at all; it made her skin look terribly pale.

"Come here, Lu," he encouraged, and she gave him a hug, sitting on his lap.

When their parents and Edmund finished dressing, they attempted to eat a small breakfast, but the affair was rather short. "I'm not hungry," Peter whispered, and sighed softly.

At last it was time to leave for the church, and Peter felt suddenly very cold as he was eased into his wheelchair. When they arrived, he noticed a rather large crowd waiting outside, and Peter took a deep breath when his father found a parking space alongside the street.

"Are you ready, son?" he asked, noticing that Peter had turned very white. "Do you want to go back home?" he added, and Peter shook his head frantically.

"N-no," he admitted, and Mr. Pevensie opened the door to his side of the car, preparing te wheelchair for when he came out. Peter stumbled a little as he stepped down onto the street…his legs were so weak that they felt like jell-o.

"Easy son," he soothed, and Edmund came to help take his brother's arm for a moment.

"Thanks, Ed," Peter whispered as he managed to steady himself, and finally sat down. "I'm ready," he croaked, and Mrs. Pevensie took Susan's hand from where she stood, standing behind Peter so he could not see her tears.

Mr. Pevensie wheeled his son towards the church, listening to the sound of the organist playing melancholy music as they approached the door. Several people parted ways so Peter could be pushed through, and Mrs. Hunt was the first to meet them as they entered the church.

"Thank God you're here," she breathed, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She wore the same black dress Peter saw when she came to visit him two evenings before, only this time a black vail covered her face. She bent low so she could embrace Peter tightly, and she kissed him. "You don't have to go to the front, love. I know this is hard enough without having to see…"

Peter swallowed. "I have to," he replied softly. "I have to see Ethan."

Edmund stood staring at the small pine box coffin, which sat before the alter. He gulped when they began moving down the isle, and Peter grew very rigid as they approached the front of the chapel. "Lucy," he whispered, and his little sister hurried to stand beside him. "Hold my hand," he begged, and she did as he asked, chewing anxiously on her lip.

"Need help?" Edmund squeaked once they were parked in front of the coffin, and Peter turned to his younger brother, blinking once.

"What do you want to do, Peter?" Mr. Pevensie asked, as both Mrs. Pevensie and Susan began to cry softly, having seen the lifeless body of Ethan, laying amongst the white satin cloth. Susan immediately burried her face against her mother's chest, trying to stifle her sobs, but doing a very poor job of it.

"I can't see it," Peter whispered, unable to find his true voice, and almost afraid that he would break down if he did. Mr. Pevensie and Edmund eased Peter out of his chair, and Lucy never released her grip on her brother's hand, but gasped as he tightened his hold, and he immediately loosened it again. "Sorry," he apologized, peering into the coffin once he stood straight enough.

What met his eyes hit him like a kick in the stomach. Ethan lay there, very small—even smaller than Peter remembered-and wore his Sunday clothes. His eyes were closed, and a peaceful smile on his lips.

"I'm…" Peter squeaked, and Mrs. Hunt came to stand beside him, placing a soothing hand on his back. "I'm…" his eyes suddenly rolled into the back of his head, and he fainted dead away.

"Oh…" Mrs. Pevensie gasped as Edmund began fanning his brother's face with the ceremony program, and Lucy began crying at that point.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Pevensie told Mrs. Hunt sadly. "He's still too ill to handle this…"

"Unnh…" Peter croaked after a few moments, and his eyes blinked open. "Where…"

"We're going home, son," Mr. Pevensie told Peter softly, watching as he gazed dazedly around the room.

"Where'm…" he whispered, still feeling terribly dizzy.

"You tried, sweetheart," Mrs. Hunt whispered, feeling his forehead.

Peter stared at her, swallowing past his dry throat. "I'm cold," he whispered, and she kissed his cheek gently.

"You need to go home and rest," she said. "Ethan knows you were here, I'm sure, and that's enough."

Peter swallowed again, darkness clouding his vision.

"I'm so sorry," Mrs. Pevensie breathed, and Peter looked at her.

"Will…will you stay for me?" he asked weakly, and she and Susan stared at him. "And tell me what it was like?"

Mr. Pevensie glanced at his wife, who wet her lips.

"What do you think, John?" she asked, and the group moved aside so Ethan's relatives and family friends could pay their respects.

"It is entirely up to you, Helen. I'll bring Peter home to bed and come back to fetch you after the ceremony."

Susan took her mother's arm, and nodded her agreement. "I want to stay," she said, and Peter smiled faintly at her.

"All right," Mr. Pevensie cleared his throat. "I'll return in an hour and a half."

Mrs. Hunt took Peter's cold hand in hers, and squeezed it tenderly. "Promise you'll still come to visit me," she said, and Peter looked at her. If he felt sad, he couldn't imagine how Ethan's mother felt. She'd lost the only family she had, and was now alone.

"I promise," he whispered, and she gave him another kiss.

"Please do your best to get well," she said, and he nodded, accepting hugs and kisses from his mother, Susan and Lucy, and glanced at Edmund.

"You're staying?" he asked, and Edmund blew out his breath, nodding.

"I'll stay, Peter," he replied, and Peter nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered, and Edmund merely shrugged, scuffing the side of his shoe against the blood red carpet. The group watched as Mr. Pevensie carried Peter back outside, allowing his son to use his shoulder as a resting spot.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Peter croaked when he was placed into the front seat.

"It's all right, son," Mr. Pevensie replied, squeezing Peter's knee, and watching as he turned to stare through the car window.

By the time they arrived home, Peter had fallen asleep, his head resting against the car door. He stirred ever so slightly when Mr. Pevensie came to lift him into his arms again, and merely moaned quietly after he was picked up.

"That's my boy," he said softly as Peter half-conciously wrapped an arm around his father's shoulders for support, nestling against his chest.

_You're going to be all right in time, _Mr. Pevensie promised silently, as he pushed the front door open with one hand. "Love you," Peter whispered once they were inside, and Mr. Pevensie planted a kiss on his son's cheek.

"I love you too, Peter. More than you'll ever know," he replied.


	16. Chapter 16: Learning to Forget

Chapter 16

_Learning to Forget_

The pain of Ethan's death and the disappointment of not being well enough to sit through the entire funeral still stung Peter. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to return to boarding school and not have Ethan greeting him on the train that fall. He would be alone all over again, even if Edmund was with him.

Despite the fact that Ed was kinder to him after their row, he still hadn't officially apologized for his harsh insults, and Peter still ached over it. _He thought he would have been better off if I'd died, too. _He gave a shiver as a gentle breeze blew past, ruffling his hair. Of course, he knew better than to press Edmund to apologize…he figured Ed would come to his senses eventually. Still, it hurt to know his brother felt that way.

"I don't know if you'll be well enough to return to school, darling," Mrs. Pevensie told him as he sat on the porch in mid-August, watching Lucy collect twigs and leaves for the faiy house. As much as it hurt, Peter couldn't let his little sister down, and agreed to aid her with the project. "Perhaps we could continue to educate you here at home."

Peter swallowed as Lucy carried a bundle of sticks to the porch, looking very satisfied with herself. She had the sketch pad open on the ground for a blue print, along with a tub of glue.

"But I'm so far along, Mum," Peter croaked. "I couldn't possibly…"

"Your father has written to your teachers, sweetheart, and we'll discuss what is going to happen. Peter sighed softly as she kissed the top of his head, and watched as she went inside again. He turned back to Lucy, who had begun to build the floor of the house, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

"Peter, can you hold this down?" she asked, reaching over and sticking a brush in the tub of glue. Peter did as she asked, gazing out over the lawn. He kept expecting Ethan to appear on the sidewalk, and for a moment, saw him smiling and waving frantically. When he blinked his eyes and tried to peer more closely at the spot, Ethan was gone.

"D'you think you'll go back to school, Peter?" Lucy asked after she and Peter glued the first row of sticks together. He coughed and took a sip of the water he brought out with him, and shrugged.

"I don't know, Lu," he replied sadly. "I mean, I want to, but I know I'll be alone when I get there." He felt Lucy take his hand, giggling when she realized that she had glue all over her fingers.

"Sorry," she apologized when she had to pry their hands apart. "You won't be alone, Peter," she promised. "Edmund goes there, too."

Peter looked at her, and she frowned at the look in his eyes. "Oh," she breathed, understanding, and he swallowed.

"Never mind, Lu," he breathed. "Blimey, this is sticky," he added, and she grinned, reaching over and spreading a bit of the glop on his forehead. He stared at her, open-mouthed, and then got her back by putting a dab of glue on her nose.

"Ewww!" she cried, wiping it off, and only succeeding in getting more of it on her face. He finally moved over so he could wrap his arms around his little sister, pulling her close to his chest. Lucy lay with her legs stretched out, being careful not to knock the fairy house apart, and held onto his fingers.

"You'll always be my favoritest brother," she said after they lay in that position for a couple of moments. "I knew you wouln't leave me, Peter."

He pressed his lips against her hair, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. Susan, who happened to enter the parlor at that moment, peered through the window out onto the porch. "Mum," she hissed, and waved her hand frantically, beaming, and Mrs Pevensie got up from her seat. The two gazed out, and Mrs. Pevensie placed a hand over her heart at the sight of her eldest son cuddling Lucy.

"Aren't they sweet?" Susan asked, breathless, and slightly jealous that Peter didn't have the same relationship with her. They were best friends, of course, but Peter treated Lucy almost like she was his own child.

"He's always had such a bond with Lu," Mrs. Pevensie told her daughter, stroking her hair. "I don't know. Ever since your little sister was born, they've been inseperable. Something about them just connected."

Susan sighed softly and sat down on the couch, picking up a book of poetry. "I'm just so glad Peter's getting better," she said, glancing at Alfred Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott".

Mrs. Pevensie nodded. "We almost lost him, Susan," she breathed. "we almost…" she choked on sob, pressing the back of her hand against her lips. Susan immediately shut the book and went to her mother's side, taking her hand.

"He'll be all right," she said. "Mum, he'll be all right."

Mrs. Pevensie held Susan close, not sure what she would have done if Peter had died along with Ethan. She couldn't imagine the agony Mrs. Hunt went through when her son passed; her only son. At least the Helen and John Pevensie had three more children, but the thought of loosing either of them was enough to break their hearts in two.

John came into the parlor with Edmund at his heels, and sat down in his favorite chair, watching his wife and daughter. "I spoke with Peter's headmistress," he said, and his wife looked at him. "She understands our situation, and thinks it would be all right if Peter took a term off. He could study through correspondence, and go back for his final year."

Mrs. Pevensie nodded. "I just couldn't bear it if he became ill again," she said. "I'm glad it's going to work out."

Edmund raised his eyes from where he stretched out on the floor, picking at a fray in the carpet. "So Peter doesn't have to come back to school in September?" he asked, and Mr. Pevensie glanced at him.

"No, Edmund. Your brother still has to recover quite a bit."

Edmund looked rather disgusted at the thought of having to go through the torture of boarding school by himself, but he said nothing. Susan wet her lips, and heard Lucy giggling from outside again, and Peter's soft voice.

When dinner time came, Mrs. Pevensie called both children inside, smiling when Peter got to his feet. He was walking again, but moved rather slow, and grew tired quickly. She took his arm as he stepped through the doorway, and led carefully him into the kitchen. He sat down in his usual chair, smiling when Susan poured each of her siblings glasses of milk.

"Peter, I spoke with your headmistress," Mr. Pevensie began, after they said grace and started to eat. Peter paused in cutting his meat, and looked at his father curiously. Edmund had his chin in his palm as he worked through his mashed potatoes, and had to be poked gently by his mother to sit up straight. "You're going to stay home for a term, and return for your final year."

Peter glanced at Susan who gave him a sympathetic look, and he turned to his mother. "I won't get behind, will I?" he asked, and Mr. Pevensie chuckled.

"No, but we're going to have your schoolbooks and your assignments sent to you, as a correspondence type of education."

Peter took a bite of his meal and nodded in agreement. "Okay." He felt Lucy take his hand from where she sat next to him, and he smiled faintly at her.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, noticing his "okay" had sounded rather half-hearted. He shrugged.

"I dunno," he said. "but I think Im getting a headache," he added, and she reached over to feel his forehead, glad that he wasn't feverish. "Might I be excused?"

She nodded, pleased that he'd managed to eat at least half of his supper. Edmund raised an eyebrow as Peter pushed back his chair and stood, apologizing as he made his way out of the kitchen.

He went upstairs to his room, sighing softly as he lay on his bed. Blowing out his breath he turned on the radio, needing to break the torturous silence. He peered through his bookshelf as he listened to one of his favorite songs, and discovered a battered copy of Tennyson.

He frowned and flipped through the pages, his eyes catching on the author's poem: "In Memoriam", which was dedicated to the passing of a friend. Peter frowned deeply as he peered through the verses, shocked at how anyone could write over ten pages worth of verse to describe their grief.

"_We have but faith; we cannot know;_

_For knowledge is of things we see;_

_And yet we trust it comes from thee,_

_A beam in darkness: let it grow"_

Peter felt his lips trembling as he continued to read, eventually forcing himself up again. He opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out a photograph of Ethan, a school portrait taken that previous term. His friend was smiling at him, dark eyes bright with laughter.

"_Forgive my grief for one removed_

_thy creature, whom I found so fair._

_I trust in thee, and there_

_I find him worthier to be loved…"_

Peter sighed sadly and sat back down on the bed just as the current song on the radio ended, and slid the photograph under the pillow just as Susan appeared in the doorway.

"Hello," she greeted quietly, and he jumped, glancing over his shoulder. "Are you feeling better?" she noticed the book in his hands, and smirked…of course he was. Peter sniffed and gave his nose a rub, laying back against the pillow, and placed the book face down on his chest. "Oh, how funny," she added as she sat down on his desk chair the wrong way. "You're reading Tennyson, too. I was reading that before supper."

Peter smiled weakly, and cleared his throat. "Probably wasn't smart of me," he croaked, and she cocked her head to one side. He handed the book to her, and she peered at the poem he was in the middle of.

"In Memoriam," she read aloud, and Peter wet his lips. "But who shall so forecast the years and find in loss a gain to match," she continued. "or reach a hand through time to catch, the far-off interest of tears?" she shook her head and handed the book back to him. "It's a beautiful poem. I remember when Grandmother gave it to us for Christmas two years ago."

Peter nodded. "I wonder if Tennyson hurt this much when his friend died," he said sadly, and Susan got up from the chair, sitting on the edge of the bed. She helped her brother sit up, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Oh Su," Peter choked, resting a head against her. "What am I going to do?" he felt her squeeze his arm gently, and leaned his head against hers.

"You're going to be fine, Peter," she promised as he began to cry softly, covering his face with his hand. "Shhhhshh." She hugged him, tears pricking from the corner of her own eyes. "Enough Tennyson tonight," she added, and Peter managed a small laugh.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, accepting a handkerchief, and dabbed at his eyes. "I miss him so much."

She kissed his cheek. "You don't have to apologize," she replied, cringing as he blew his nose. "I know you miss him. I miss him, too, Peter." She shut the book and put it away for her brother, knowing he didn't want to look at it any further. "How is the fairy house coming, anyway?"

Peter looked at her, and gave a small shrug. "Well, we're going to finish the floor tomorrow, and then Lucy wants me to help her with the first wall."

Susan chuckled. "Lucy has it all planned out," she said, and Peter smirked. His youngest sister did have quite an imagination, that was for certain. He caught a hint of loneliness in Susan's voice as she said this, and he touched her arm.

"You can help us if you want," he said, and she shook her head.

"No," she said. "Peter, that's for you and Lucy. I couldn't intrude." She stood and glanced around her brother's bedroom. "but…should I tell Mum your head feels better?" she asked as she started to leave, and he looked at her, having forgotten all about it.

"Oh," he replied sheapishly. "Yes, it is better, thanks."

Susan rolled her eyes as she turned and headed out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her. He began to get ready for bed after he was alone again for a few minutes, and watched as the sun sunk lower and lower behind the buildings. Soon it would be fall, and then the darkness would come early.

_I feel like the darkness has already come early enough for me, _he thought as he slipped into his pajamas, grateful to be out of his stiff collared shirt and cotton trousers. He draped his day clothes over the back of his chair, listening as his family moved about the house. He heard his father burst into laughter from the living room, and Edmund's voice followed the noise. They had been there for him all through his illness…well, mother, father and sisters. Edmund was there for him at the funeral, which was the most difficult situation he had ever gone through.

"I'm sorry I fainted, Ethan," he said as he slid into bed, waiting for his mother to come and check on him before he fell asleep. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay." He swallowed past a lump in his throat, which still ached a little. When Mrs. Pevensie came to see him shortly afterwards, she found him sound asleep and with a different book on his chest. It moved up and down with his even breathing, causing her to smile.

She took the book very gently out of Peter's hands, realizing he was reading War and Peace, and after marking the page he was on, set it on his desk. She bent low to brush his bangs away from his forehead, watching as he made a small movement at her touch and turned over on his side.

"Good night, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing his cheek, and pulling the blanket up to his neck.


	17. Chapter 17: Long Long Journey

Chapter 17

_Long Long Journey_

The rest of the summer crept by, and things slowly began to fall into place again. Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie decided that it would be good for Peter's health if they traveled to the cottage for the last week of vacation, and in deed, he was growing stronger by the day.

Peter took long walks in the woods during the afternoons, feeling well enough to do so at this point, and spent a lot of time at the willow grove. He still missed Ethan terribly, and visiting the old haunts gave him a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach. It seemed like only yesterday that he and Ethan were hanging upside down from these trees, chatting happily.

He and Lucy continued building the fairy house in the evenings, but it was taking a long time to work on. By the end of August, they only completed the floor and one wall. It didn't help that Lucy had such a strict eye for detail, and wanted everything to be exactly as she visualized it in her head.

When it was time for the younger children to return to school, the Pevensies returned to London. Peter felt a bit depressed as he sat and watched Edmund pack his things into his trunk the night before the train was to leave for the boarding school.

"You would think you'd actually enjoy being an only child," Edmund pointed out, after he sat on his suitcase, having to bounce a little to get it to close properly. "I mean, not having to set an example for us kids all the time." He finally heard the trunk snap, and grinned with satisfaction.

No matter how "normal" their relationship seemed, Peter still felt thick tension in the air. Edmund still hadn't brought up anything regarding their row, and at this point, Peter was starting to give up on the hope that his brother would realize what he'd done.

"It's going to be so quiet," Peter said, fiddling with his suspender strap, and lay against the pillows. He was still so tired these days, and slept more often than he used to. "You'll write to me, won't you, Ed?" he asked, and his younger brother smirked.

"Oh, sure," he replied sarcastically, and drug the trunk out into the hall.

Peter blew out his breath when Edmund was out of sight, and gazed up at the ceiling. He remained this way for quite some time until Lucy came in, crawling up onto his bed. "I wish you could come with us on the train," she said in a quiet voice, and he took her hand, squeezing it tightly.

"You're going to make me proud again, I hope?" he asked, and she grinned, licking his forehead playfully. "Ugh, what was that for?" he asked, laughing, and wiped the wet spot with the heel of his hand.

"A puppy kiss," she replied innocently, and he gave her a big hug. "Peter, promise you won't touch the fairy house until I come back," she added anxiously, and he tapped her on the nose.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, and she sighed with relief.

"Good." She cuddled with him, gripping a bulk of his shirt in her hand. "I want you to be with me when it's finished."

He nodded, yawning, and glanced towards the window. The sky was getting dark, and soon, everyone would be going to bed. He wondered if Ethan was truly in heaven, playing amongst the clouds and with the angels. He saw no fault in his best friend that would place him otherwise, and smiled at the thought.

"Peter?" Lucy asked, glancing at him after they were silent for a while.

"Mmmm?"

"What d'you think heaven's like?"

He stared at her, startled that she'd been thinking about the same thing. He saw Susan peering through the doorway at that moment, and encouraged her to come and join them in the bed.

"Are you sure?" she asked, knowing that when Peter and Lucy spent time together, it was often something sacred. He nodded, and when Lucy nodded as well, she took this as an opportunity to climb under the covers and snuggle close to Peter's side. "Thanks," she whispered, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I was asking Peter what he thought heaven looked like," Lucy explained, and Susan turned to her brother, frowning.

"I haven't really given it a lot of thought," Peter admitted. "I try not to think about dying." He gave a small shrug. "but I s'ppose after going to church with Mum and Dad so often, I have a picture of what it looks like in my head."

"I know I do," Lucy replied. "I think…that when your spirit rises out of your body, that you're engulfed in white light. Then you end up in front of huge golden gates, where Jesus is waiting to meet you. The gates are surrounded by clouds of pink and white, but there are specks of green grass between the spaces."

Peter and Susan glanced at each other and smiled faintly; there was Lucy with her big imagination again.

"I think that as soon as you step through the gates," Susan continued the conversation, her voice quiet, "that you get to see family and friends who have died that you missed so much. The priest always says we'll be able to meet them again."

Peter swallowed; the thought of having to wait until he died before seeing Ethan was torture. He wanted his friend _now_, and the fact that he couldn't have him made him angry.

Peter let out a grunt of aggravation and pushed himself up from the bed, sliding off and going to the window.

"Peter?" Susan squeaked, startled by his sudden change in personality. "Did we say something wrong?"

Lucy bit her lip as her brother stared into the night, gazing up at the full moon. Peter turned around, revealing tear-stained cheeks, and Susan immediately pulled the blankets down. "Oh, don't," she begged, starting towards him, and both sisters jumped when he whirled around and threw a book against the wall.

"Why did he have to die, Su?" he cried, falling into his chair, and pounding his desktop with his fist. "Why did he have…" Peter burried his face in his arms, letting himself go with his emotions. He'd been doing very well with keeping them in check over the past month, occasionally growing tearful when he'd see something or read something that reminded him of his friend.

"Peter," Susan whispered, rubbing his back, and frowned when he reached up to take her hand tightly. "It's perfectly all right. You've been through most of the stages of grief at this point...shock, denial, you know."

Peter sniffed and massaged his forehead, gulping between sobs. "I know he's in heaven," he said. "I know God's taking care of him, and his Dad, too. But I wish he could be here with us."

Lucy reached into her brother's desk drawer and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to him after a few moments.

"I'm sorry, Lu," Peter apologized, noticing the expression of deep concern etched on his face. "I'll be all right." He wiped his eyes, taking a trembly breath. "I just get so angry thinking about how young he was when he died. He didn't even reach his twelth birthday yet."

"When is it, Peter?" Susan asked, and he looked at her wearily.

"October 5th," Peter replied, and Lucy bit her lip.

"Maybe you can visit his gravesite on his birthday," Susan suggested. "Since you'll be here at home."

Peter sniffed and wiped his nose again, feeling miserable. "Maybe," he whispered, and glanced over his shoulder. "I just wish I knew what was going on with Ed," he added, and the girls stared at one another. "You were there when we fought, Su, so…" he shrugged. "and he hasn't said anything about it since Dad yelled at him."

Lucy kissed his cheek. "Ed is a git," she replied, and Peter smiled faintly. "He's always been a git."

Susan chuckled. "Don't say such a thing," she scolded, and Lucy shrugged.

"He was very mean to Peter," she pointed out.

"Yet he's acting as if everything's all right between us," Peter spoke, and Susan shrugged.

"I wouldn't dwell on it, Peter. I mean, most of what Ed says doesn't mean much."

Peter sighed. "I think he did," he replied, and she cocked her head to one side. "I really think he meant it this time, Su. He was so angry with me that night."

Lucy wrapped her arms around his waist, and burried her nose against his shoulder.

"I'll go and kick him if you like," she offered, and he smiled.

"No, Lu. I just…I don't know. I don't know what goes on in that head of his sometimes." He shivered a little, and struggled to his feet, just as Mrs. Pevensie popped in to check on them.

"Is everything all right up here? We heard some banging," she said, and they looked at each other sheapishly. Peter dabbed at his nose again, and nodded, going to lay back down on his bed.

"I'm fine, Mum," he replied as she came over to feel his forehead just to be on the safe side.

"No fever," she replied, kissing him.

"He's just a little sad because we're all going away tomorrow," Susan explained, and Peter looked at her with a smirk.

"Oh baby, it'll be all right," Mrs. Pevensie soothed, stroking his hair. "Daddy and I will be here with you."

Peter nodded, sniffling, and watched as Susan and Lucy crawled onto the bed again.

"I know. I guess, I guess the fact that I'm not going back makes me think about Ethan even more. I'm still so sad about it, Mum." He swallowed as she squeezed his hand lovingly.

"And that is perfectly all right, darling," Mrs. Pevensie replied. "You just frightened us with your severe depression earlier, but I think sadness such as you are experiencing is perfectly normal."

Peter sighed, folding his arms.

"Well, it is getting late, and about time the girls went to bed. You'll be able to come with us to the train tomorrow if you wish," she added, and Peter nodded.

"Of course I'll come," he promised, and she planted another kiss on top of his head.

"Come along, Susan and Lucy…into your pajamas and brush your teeth, girls." She clapped her hands gently, and they groaned with irritation. Susan and Lucy each pecked a kiss on Peter's cheek as they scurried out of the room, and Mrs. Pevensie remained with her son for a few minutes.

"I still feel ill, Mum," Peter whispered, and she stroked his bangs away from his forehead. "Will I ever get well again?"

Mrs. Pevensie wrapped her arms around her eldest son, holding him close. "You were near death, Peter," she whispered. "you are going to regain your strength little by little, but the doctor told us you might not be as well as you used to be."

Peter blew out his breath, nodding softly. "I'm sorry, Mum," he apologized, and she rubbed his back.

"Sweetheart, this isn't something you had any control over," she soothed, and Peter looked at her weakly.

"I…I feel like I killed him, Mum," he choked, and Mrs. Pevensie sat up a bit straighter, startled by this bit of information.

"Peter!" she gasped. "Don't you dare say such a thing! Ethan's death was not your fault."

Peter shook his head, his lips trembling again. "I…I disobeyed him, Mum. We were…we were just sitting around and it was so hot that day…when the mother and the child came to see Mrs. Hunt. He told me we weren't supposed to open the door for anybody, and I kept insisting that we help the mother somehow. I was trying to be noble, I suppose, and then he got sick and died. He's dead because I wouldn't…I wouldn't listen to him."

Mrs. Pevensie watched as Peter began to cry again, and let him lean against her chest. For a few moments she said nothing, and then she rubbed his back gently.

"Honey," she breathed. "Sweetheart, shhhhhsh. You have such a good heart, Peter. You wanted to help the child, and that was the only thing on your mind. Most people would let the little girl suffer, but you took matters into your own hands and made sure she got the best treatment possible."

Peter gulped, glancing at his mother. "But she died, too," he whispered, and she pressed her cheek against his head.

"Would you rather she died on the street or in the comfort of the Hunt's house?" she asked, and Peter wet his lips, shaking his head afterwards. Mrs. Pevensie hugged him tightly. "Try not to beat yourself up over this, darling. You shouldn't blame yourself."

Peter managed a small smile when she wiped the tears from his cheeks, and he lowered his head. "I've missed that smile," she chuckled, and it stretched even wider. "I'll make you a cup of tea so you can settle down before going to sleep tonight," she added, and he gave her another hug and kiss before she left the bedroom.

_I am sorry, Ethan, _Peter thought, laying back against his pillows, and sighing deeply. _I just miss you so much. _

p p The next morning, Peter joined his parents and siblings as they drove to the train station. It was pouring rain, unfortunately, so he was not allowed out of the car. "If you get soaked, you'll catch a chill," Mrs. Pevensie warned. "You're already damp after the walk to the car from the house."

But he managed to embrace his sisters tightly. Edmund held out a stiff hand, which he shook gently, and he smiled at them. "You will write to me, won't you, Lucy? Susan?" Peter asked, and Lucy reached in to take his hand.

"I'll write you every single day," she promised, and Peter laughed.

"Oh you goose," he teased. "You don't have to write to me that often. But I'd like to hear from you every now and again."

She nodded. "I will, Peter," she promised, and Susan nodded as well.

"Me too," she added, and the conductor suddenly shouted, "ALL ABOARD!" from where he stood on the platform.

"All right, dears," Mrs. Pevensie encouraged. "Off you go."

"Bye, Mum!" Susan and Lucy called, waving frantically as they made their way through the crowds of parents, who were waving to their own children. Edmund waved quickly too, and bolted as fast as he could for the train's doors.

Peter stuck his head partially out the window when the train whistle went off, and he waved as Lucy did the same, but through one of the compartments. When she caught sight of him, she blew him a kiss, and then the train began to move away.

Peter watched sadly as it disappeared around the bend, disappearing from sight, and sat back against the seat. Mr. Pevensie climbed into the driver's side of the car and Mrs. Pevensie into the front passenger seat, and both of them turned to their eldest son.

"Keep your chin up, Peter," Mr. Pevensie encouraged, and Peter raised his eyes. "The term will be over before you know it, lad."

Peter folded his arms, scuffing the side of his shoe against the floor of the car, and closed his eyes. As he drifted off, phrases from Tennyson's "Lady of Shalott" danced through his mind. He felt like the beautiful Lady, trapped in her tower room, while everyone else in the village got to do whatever they pleased.

_To weave the mirror's magic sights,_

_For often through the silent nights_

_A funeral, with plumes and lights_

_And music, went to Camelot;_

_Or when the Moon was overhead,_

_Came two young lovers lately wed._

"_I am half sick of shadows," said,_

_The Lady of Shalott._

When he awoke, he felt his father reaching down to pick him up out of the car, and he shook his head softly. "Can do it," he whispered, and Mr. Pevensie glanced at his wife with a small smile. They stepped aside so he could come out of the car, and Mrs. Pevensie prepared to catch Peter if he needed help.

"Carefully now," Mr. Pevensie warned, and Peter gripped onto his father's arm, feeling a bit weaker than usual because of the rain. "There we are." He eased Peter quickly through the storm, and into the house. It seemed strangely quiet, despite the dogs barking and yipping from their cages, and Peter made his way upstairs to change into dry clothes.

_Who is this, and what is here?_

_And in the lighted palace near_

_Died the sounds of royal cheer;_

_And they crossed themselves for fear,_

_All the Knights at Camelot;_

_But Lancelot mused a little space_

_He said, "She has a lovely face;_

_God in his mercy, lend her grace,_

_The Lady of Shalott."_

Peter changed and stood in the center of the room alone, missing his siblings deeply. _Especially Lucy, _he thought, for she had to be his soul mate. There was no other word for it. _For you I'll get through this, _he added, as he joined his parents in the living room for tea. _I'll try, _he added, curling up on the couch. /p /p 


	18. Chapter 18: Changes and Christmas time

Chapter 18

_Changes at Christmas time_

Peter had a bit of difficulty adjusting to life as an only child, but after a month or two passed, he began to get used to it. He went to the doctor twice since the others left for school, and seemed to be making continual progress.

On Ethan's twelth birthday, Peter took Susan's advice and went to the seashore, to visit Mrs. Hunt. She was grateful for his company, also having trouble adjusting to being alone. "I don't think I've ever been truly alone in my life until now," she explained sadly as they walked through the small village cemetery. It was very peaceful, and Peter found himself peering at the other tombstones, curious as to who else was burried here.

When they reached Ethan's grave, he was a bit startled to find a flat tomb rather than a tall one.

"He wanted to be burried next to his father," Mrs. Hunt explained, pointing to the headstone beside it, watching as her son's best friend knelt down in front of the grave to read the inscription. _Ethan Charles Hunt: October 5, 1925-July 15, 1938 REST IN PEACE. _

Peter reached down to touch the marble with the palm of his hand, eventually sitting on the grass. Mrs. Hunt said nothing, her hands clasped in front of her as she stood behind him. A chilly wind blew past, making Peter shiver and draw his coat more tightly around his body.

"We shouldn't stay here very long, dear," Mrs. Hunt whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Your mother would hang me if you caught cold."

Peter glanced up, blinking, and allowed her to help him stand. She took him by the hand and gently led him away from the gravesite, weaving slowly through the narrow pathways.

"It is strange to think that there isn't a body in the grave," Peter admitted, once they were on their way back to the house. His parents were scheduled to pick him up after dinner, and it was getting close to that point. "Is his father's body in ashes, too?"

Mrs. Hunt nodded. "It was just a decision made on Charles' and I's part. I thought about containing Ethan's ashes in a vase in the house, but I did not want to go against his wishes."

Peter shuddered at the thought of human ashes sitting on a mantle or a bedside table, and was grateful to be inside again. He ate supper with Mrs. Hunt, glad he could keep her company.

"You're a good boy, Peter," Mrs. Hunt told him as they sat in the parlor, waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie to arrive. "I don't ever want you to change. Do you hear me?" she squeezed his wrist, and he smiled.

When his parents arrived at last, Peter was dead tired. He longed for his bed, and allowed his father to pick him up and carry him to the car. "Thank you for having him," Mrs. Pevensie said kindly, shaking Mrs. Hunt's hand. "Peter is doing much better these days."

Mrs. Hunt nodded. "I do see the improvement," she agreed. "He has a bit of a journey left to go, but I think he'll be just fine."

"Do you have plans for the Christmas holiday?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, once Peter was comfortably in the back seat, and Mrs. Hunt frowned.

"Not off hand," she replied, and Mrs. Pevensie took her hand.

"You are welcome to spend the holiday with us. The rest of the children will be home for a week, and I couldn't bare to think of your being alone during such an occasion."

Mrs. Hunt agreed to join them, and stood waving from the doorstep as they pulled away.

When they arrived home, Mr. Pevensie handed Peter two envelopes, and gave him a gentle pat on the head. "They just came this afternoon while you were at Mrs. Hunt's," he explained, and Peter stared at his father for a moment. Murphy the basset hound lay in front of the couch when Peter went to lay down on it, and he bent over to scratch the dog's head gently.

"Good boy," he whispered faintly as he peered at the return address. He could make out Lucy's untidy scrawl, and Susan's neat print. He smiled when Murpy sat up and rested his head on his lap, giving a small snort. "Do you want to read this, too?" he asked, and the dog stared at him through big, sad brown eyes.

Lucy's letter was, as usual, full of innocence. She spoke of her teachers, her struggle with her math lessons, how the other girls teased her, etc.

_I told the great sods that my big brother would come and do them in if they kept it up. _

Peter laughed softly, and continued reading about how much she missed him, and hoped he was feeling better. When he finished Lucy's letter, he went onto Susan's, which was much more detailed.

He folded both of them and sat gazing at the wall for a few minutes. It didn't shock him at all that he hadn't heard from Edmund; he hadn't necessarily planned on it. Still, he hoped his brother was staying out of trouble this term. Edmund always managed to get into one fix or another (mostly to show off), and without Peter there for guidance, no doubt he would find it a free-for-all.

Peter blew out his breath and continued scratching his dog's head, listening to his parent's quiet voices in the kitchen. "All right, then, my hand is getting tired," he spoke after a few minutes, and eased the dog off of his leg. Murphy let out a yip and tried to nuzzle his owner's arm impatiently with his wet nose, and Peter laughed. "I can't pet you forever," he replied. "Lay down."

Ginger lay across the room and lifted his own head, letting out a low growl and a bark, almost in warning, and Murphy immediately did as he was told. Peter glanced at his dogs with amusement, before laying back against the pillows again.

When the Christmas holiday finally arrived, so did his three siblings. He was ill with a headache when their train was due to arrive, so he remained at the house with his mother.

Lucy was the first to burst through the doorway, causing him to cringe and clasp a hand to his forehead, but he fought the pain and smiled when she ran to greet him. "Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter!" she exclaimed, bouncing up and down and grabbing her brother's hand.

"Lucy!" Mrs. Pevensie warned, coming into the parlor. "Your brother does not feel well; he needs peace and quiet."

Lucy stared as Susan came to hug and kiss him, and she frowned deeply. "It's nothing," Peter promised. "Just a nasty headache."

Lucy bit her lip as Susan presented him with a scarf she'd knitted over the past few months, and he managed to sit up and inspect it. The scarf was a deep blue, and very soft. "Thank you," he whispered, accepting another hug, and he glanced at Edmund, who was being reprimanded by his father.

"He had a letter sent home by the principal," Susan explained, when they took the arguing out of the living room, and Peter raised an eyebrow. "Supposedly Edmund stuffed some little kid into a trash bin, and the cafeteria cook found him."

Peter shook his head sorrowfully; his brother was only eight years old, and already a menace. He was a bit taller than most children his age, so Edmund could easily pass for a secondary school student.

"Have you been very lonely without us?" Lucy asked, once they were settled, and Edmund returned, sulking miserably.

"I don't think you'll pull a prank like that again, will you, Ed?" Peter asked, scowling with disapproval as his brother flopped down onto his father's chair. Edmund glared menacingly at him, and merely gave a huff, turning away. "And to answer your question, Lu, I missed all of you very much." He took her hand. "I went to see Ethan's gravesite on his birthday," he added, and Susan put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "I went to visit Mrs. Hunt, too, so the both of us went together."

Susan and Lucy glanced at each other worriedly, and then back at their brother.

"It must have been so hard for you, Peter," Susan breathed, and he shrugged.

"I suppose," he replied. "I mean, it was weird, seeing my best friend's name on a tombstone, but…I don't know. Cemeteries are so peaceful, and it's hard to feel sad when you're in them."

Lucy cuddled Peter tightly as their mother came in with cups of tea.

"Have you had many of these headaches?" Susan asked, noticing how he cringed every now and again, and he gave another shrug.

"Sometimes," he told her quietly. "They usually happen when there's a threat of rain coming."

Lucy glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, the sky was darkening with clouds.

After supper on Christmas Eve, Peter felt well enough to sit at the piano, and his siblings (minus Edmund of course), gathered around him. Lucy and Susan chirped along as Peter played "Silent Night", and their parents peeped in on them after cleaning up from dinner with a smile. Peter sung, too, but because his voice was starting to change, it cracked every now and again.

"Don't sit up too late," Mrs. Pevensie warned once it was getting late, and Peter put his arm around Susan's shoulders as they headed towards the stairs.

"I won't," both of them replied in unison, and Lucy giggled, making sure her oldest brother wrapped an arm around her shoulders as well.

"Or Santa Clause won't come," she added, and her older siblings exchanged amused glances. They of course, didn't believe in Santa anymore, but Lucy was too young to be told the truth yet.

"You two didn't know until you were at least eight," Mr. Pevensie chortled once, when Peter inquired of the matter.

They gathered on Peter's bed, watching as Edmund shuffled past and to his own room. Peter rolled his eyes a little and felt Lucy clasp both of his hands.

"What d'you want for Christmas, Peter? I mean, what's the biggest wish you have in the world?"

Susan smiled at her little sister, resting her head against her brother's shoulder.

"I don't really know, Lucy," he replied softly. "The one thing I really want, I know I can't have." He glanced down at his lap, and immediately, his sisters knew what he meant. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, and when Lucy gave a loud yawn, Peter ruffled her hair. She clasped her hands over her head, giving him a playful scowl, and he scooped her into his arms.

"All right, time for bed," he encouraged, and Lucy frowned.

"But I'm not (yawn) sleepy," she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder. Susan hopped to the floor and shuffled after her brother, watching as her mother climbed the steps at that very moment.

"Peter is taking care of it," she said, when Mrs. Pevensie started to speak.

"Are you sure, dear?" she asked, and Susan nodded. When her mother tiptoed back downstairs, Susan peered into Lucy's room. Peter was tucking her in, making sure she was comfortable.

"Tell me a story, Peter," she whispered, and he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What kind of a story?" he asked, and she reached out to clasp his hand, smiling.

"When I was born."

Peter rolled his eyes slightly, and groaned. Lucy loved to hear that story over and over and over again, especially on Christmas Eve.

"Good night, Peter," Susan called, and he told Lucy to hold on a moment, and went to give his other sister a hug and a kiss.

"Night Su," he replied, and she gave a soft wave, shuffling down the hall. When she was gone, Peter sat back down on Lucy's bed, and watched as her eyes grew wide and hopeful. He smoothed her hair away form her face, and began to tell the story as she requested.

"Well, you were born on the first day of spring, and Mum went into labor around noon. We were being homeschooled still, so I was able to go. The others would have been there, too, but Ed had influenza so Susan had to stay with him." He paused after this statement, and Lucy gave him an encouraging nudge. "I was in the room when you came out, Lu, and it was so easy for Mum."

Lucy smiled; her mother had complications giving birth to Peter, and almost died from loss of blood. She had a bit of trouble with Susan, too, but Edmund and Lucy both arrived quickly and almost effortlessly.

"You know, I felt something strange when I held you after you were wrapped in that soft pink blanket you still have," he teased, holding it up from where it curled around her pillow. She stuck her tongue out at him, and snatched it away, immediately jamming her thumb into her mouth. "Anyway, your big eyes were staring at me, and I think you smiled."

Lucy let out another yawn, but forced her eyes to stay open. "Go on, Peter," she begged. "You chose my name, didn't you?"

Peter nodded. "Yes…I always liked the name Lucy, and Mum wanted to name you Marie after Grandmother. But she saw how serious I was about Lucy, and that's how we decided on Lucy Marie. When I said it aloud, you reached up and whacked me on the nose."

Lucy laughed; she adored his story so much…it was proof that Peter was hers. "And you asked Mum if you could have me, remember?"

Peter chuckled. He had been six years old when Lucy was born, and still rather stupid in his opinion. But he took Lucy under his wing immediately, determined to protect her in anyway a big brother could.

_"_You_ are_ mine, Lu," he whispered, and she beamed with delight.

"I love you, Peter," she whispered. "But I'm gonna go to sleep now, okay?" she turned over on her side, burying under her covers, and Peter smiled.

"Good night," he whispered, and slid very carefully off of her bed. He turned towards the window at that very moment, and saw that snow was falling. He quickly hurried to peer out more closely, and to his excitement, found that it was sticking to the ground. He'd always wanted a white Christmas, and so far, he hadn't any luck.

"Come to bed, sweetheart. It's getting late." He jumped at the sound of his mother's voice, and turned to her.

"Love you," he replied, hugging and kissing her, and she touched his cheek.

"I love you," she agreed, and sent him off to bed.

On Christmas morning, Lucy awoke, and her mouth popped open at the sight before her. The grounds of London were covered in several inches of thick, white fluff. She immediately hopped out of bed and dashed down the corridor, bursting into Peter's room and bouncing on his bed.

"Wake up, Peter, wake up!" she begged, shaking his shoulder, and watching as his face crinkled with irritation.

"Lu, Lucy!" he warned, eventually turning over and forcing himself to sit up straight. "What is it?"

"It's Christmas, silly! And it snowed last night, look, lookit!" she pointed eagerly towards the window, and he stared. In deed, his wish had finally come true. Part of him wondered if it was Ethan's doing, now that he was in heaven.

"Get up, please, Peter, please?" Lucy gave him her famous puppy face, one that melted his heart no matter what type of mood he happened to be in at the time. "Go wake Mum and Dad, and I'll wake up Su," he replied, and immediately slid out of bed, grabbing his robe. He dashed out into the hall and down the steps, immediately sliding onto his piano bench.

Susan heard the cheerful Christmas music first, her eyes squeezing shut in irritation. "Hang it, Peter," she groaned, pulling her pillow over her face.

"Susan, come on, we have to open presents!" Lucy exclaimed, as her parents stumbled out of their bedroom, looking rather disgruntled. Edmund heard the noise of Peter's music, too, and peered through his door.

"What's all that noise?" he asked, and Lucy looked over her shoulder.

"It isn't noise," she retorted. "Peter's playing the piano."

"Sounds like a bunch of noise to me," he muttered under his breath (as such, no one heard him), and joined the rest of his family on the stairs.

Peter eventually grew tired of playing, and went to lay down on the couch while everyone gathered around the medium-sized Christmas tree. It was ablaze with white lights and pop corn tinsel; as well as store-bought and hand made ornaments.

"Happy Christmas," Susan exclaimed, rushing over to kiss Peter on the cheek.

"Happy Christmas to you too, Su," Peter replied, pulling a blanket around him, and watching as Lucy and Edmund dove for their piles of gifts instantly.

"Hold it," Mr. Pevensie laughed, whistling so loudly that his children paused at once. "Let's organize ourselves here. Peter, are you sure you don't want to join your siblings by the tree?" he asked, and Peter shrugged.

"Come on, Peter, please," Lucy begged, and he rolled his eyes a little, sliding down to the rug. She handed him his rather large pile of gifts, and looked at Susan and Edmund. "He should go first," she insisted with a matter-of-fact nod, and Edmund stared.

"Thanks, Lucy, but…"

"Go on, Peter," Susan insisted. "You've earned it this year."

Edmund scowled; there was perfect Peter back in the limelight all over again.

"You don't have to, darling," Mrs. Pevensie added, from where she sat on the couch with her husband, and he looked at them with a frown. He always hated opening presents in front of his family; it did embarrass him a little, having everyone stare at him expectantly.

"Lucy, why don't you go first?" he asked, and she went to sit on his lap, pulling her pile of gifts along the floor.

"Choose which one I'll open first, then," she insisted, and he picked up the first on the pile, and she glanced over his shoulder. It was a small box, which she tore the paper off from carefully. Curious, Lucy popped the lid and stared at what was inside. "Oooo—oh!" she breathed, and when the others peered closely to see what she'd gotten, they found her holding a necklace with a fairy charm at the end. "I know Santa didn't bring this," she whispered, and Peter felt his heart stop in mid beat.

"Um…" he gulped, and glanced at his parents, who were staring at each other as well, with confusion.

"Who did, then, Lucy?" asked Susan, and she fingered the charm carefully.

"I shouldn't," she replied softly, and Peter ruffled her hair.

"Come on, Lu," he insisted. "Who do you think gave it to you?"

"Well, I think Ethan did it," she added, and Peter blinked.

"Don't be stupid," Edmund retorted. "Ethan's dead. How could he have?"

"Edmund!" Mrs. Pevensie told her youngest son in a scolding voice, and Peter wet his lips. He'd gotten Lucy the fairy necklace, and it was very difficult not to reveal himself.

"I didn't put fairies on my wish list," Lucy explained. "And who else would have known about it besides Peter?"

Peter swallowed past a small lump in his throat, and Mr. Pevensie narrowed his eyes.

"Lucy, that's enough," he warned, sensing Peter's emotions.

"I'm sorry," Lucy replied quietly, and Peter shook his head.

"It's—all right, Lu," he whispered, and she held up the necklace, asking him to put it around her neck for her.

The rest of the gift opening session went more smoothly, each of the family members ooo-hing and ahhh-ing over what they received.

Mrs. Pevensie and Susan spent the rest of the afternoon preparing the Christmas dinner, and because they were going to have Mrs. Hunt as an extra guest, made certain that food was abundant.

"Lucy, dear, may daddy and I speak with you in private?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, after Peter sat alone in the living room for about an hour after gift opening ended. Confused, but willing, Lucy hopped to her feet and followed her parents into her father's study.

Mr. Pevensie sat down at his desk, and looked at her. "I was hoping to wait until you were a bit older to tell you any of this," he said, and Lucy stared. "But I'm afraid Santa Clause is merely a myth."

"Darling, Daddy, your brothers, sister and I are the ones who give you the gifts each Christmas," Mrs. Pevensie replied. "We buy them weeks before hand, and hide them until Christmas Eve."

Lucy blinked, stunned. "So…" she swallowed. "There's no Santa?"

Mr. Pevensie shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sweetheart," he replied, and she sat down in the spare chair, her eyes downcast. "And I also wanted to make you aware that your comment about Ethan put you brother in one of his moods again," he added, and Lucy wet her lips.

"I didn't mean to," she whispered, and he nodded.

"I know you didn't," he answered. "but, I think you need to go and make sure he's all right."

Lucy swallowed. "S-so…Peter got me the necklace?" she asked, and Mrs. Pevensie nodded. "Oh dear," she breathed in understanding. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, and he gave her a motion with his hand.

"We know, love. Go on."

Lucy immediately bolted out of the study and into the living room, where Peter sat gazing out into the snow-covered yard.

"Peter?" she asked, and he turned, frowning a little. "Are you okay?'

He nodded slowly. "I'm fine, Lu," he whispered, and she sat down with him.

"Daddy told me," she said, and he blinked. "That you got me the fairy necklace."

Peter nodded again, and she threw her arms around him, burying her face against his chest. "I'm sorry you had to discover this on Christmas morning, Lu," Peter whispered, and she shook her head frantically.

"I'm sorry I said anything about Ethan," she replied. "I was silly. Thank you, Peter," she added. "I loved it."

He gave her a kiss, and squeezed her hand. "You're welcome, Lu," he replied. "I'm sorry we didn't get to finish the fairy house yet."

She smiled. "I still think Santa's real though, you know?" she asked, and Peter smirked.

"Even after what Dad said?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yes. I mean, anything's possible, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "I suppose so," he replied, and tapped her on the nose.

When Mrs. Hunt came for dinner, Peter was pleased to see she finally stopped wearing black. Instead, she wore a blood red dress that went down to her ankles, and her long, dark hair was down at her shoulders.

"Thank you for joining us tonight," Mrs. Pevensie told her when she came in, and she nodded.

"Where is Peter?" she asked, and he immediately hopped up from his spot on the couch, and went to embrace her.

"Merry Christmas, dear," she whispered, and he nodded.

"Merry Christmas," he replied, and she handed him a small box. "This is for you, sweetheart."

He stared, startled that she thought of him in the midst of mourning. He went to sit on the couch again, and very carefully removed the paper. Inside, he found several items belonging to Ethan; his sketch pad, his pocket knife, and his old harmonica. Mrs. Pevensie covered her mouth with one hand at the expression on her son's face when she realized what he had in front of him, and she clasped her husband's arm.

"He would have wanted you to have these," Mrs. Hunt explained.

Peter was very quiet for a few minutes, and finally gave a nod. "Thank you," he whispered, and Lucy took his hand.

Dinner itself was a much more cheerful affair, and Peter hadn't eaten so much in a good while. He and Edmund were so full after dessert, that they both lay on the rug during tea. When Mrs. Hunt left around ten o'clock, Lucy had fallen asleep against Peter's shoulder, snoring loudly.

Even Susan, who fought to keep her eyes open through the last hour of conversation, fell asleep on the floor by the fireplace. Mr. Pevensie stood with his wife, and both adults laughed softly at the sight of their children.

"Perhaps we should leave them," Mr. Pevensie suggested. "I'd hate to wake them up at this point."

Edmund snored loudly at that moment, and Mrs. Pevensie smiled. "Well, let's find some blankets and cover them first," she whispered. "We don't want them to get cold." After draping spare quilts over their bodies, Mrs. Pevensie took her husband's hand. "They are growing so fast," she said, and he nodded. "I'm still worried for Peter, but I do think he'll be all right."

Mr. Pevensie kissed her, and led her towards the stairs. "We'll feel much better about it when he reaches his thirteenth birthday this May," he chuckled, and she nodded. After making sure everything was in order, they made their way upstairs, leaving the house in comfortable silence.


	19. Chapter 19: Hard Times Come Again

Chapter 19

_Hard times come again _

Though Peter's life was slowly going back to normal towards the beginning of 1939, the state of the world seemed to be slowly but surely falling apart. He listened to the radio, hearing of Adolph Hitler and Germany, worried about an impending war. War that would require the mobilization of troops. Troops made up of fathers…he gave a shudder. Fathers, sons, brothers…he sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest, and tried to focus on his latest Latin essay.

Much to Peter's surprise, his father appeared very calm and collected over the situation. He would merely pat his eldest son on the head whenever he brought the topic up at dinner, or his mother would clear her throat loudly, and begin talking about the weather.

When Susan, Edmund and Lucy returned home from school for the summer in June, Peter was never happier to see his siblings. Edmund, however, was more melancholy than ever, and spent a lot of time alone in his room. _He's probably worried about Dad, _Peter thought, scowling when he saw his brother laying on his bed, his nose burried in a book about trains.

"Peter?" Lucy asked one day in mid-July, while her brother lay reading on his bed. His room was much cooler than the parlor, for it was in the perfect direction of the gentle breeze that blew. "Can I borrow your pocket knife?"

He raised an eyebrow, wondering what on Earth she would need with that. "My…what are you planning to do with it, Lu?" he asked, rubbing his eyes wearily, and struggled to sit up.

"The fairy house, silly," she replied, putting her hands on her hips. "I want to work on it today."

"Oh, right." Peter smiled and ruffled her hair, receiving a pout, and he went into his drawer. They hadn't been working on it much that summer, because Lucy spent quite a bit of time with her friends. _She really is growing up, _he thought sadly. _She won't need me anymore one of these days._ He shook his head, clearing the horrid thought out of his mind, and turned his attention to the present. "And it was Ethan's pocket knife, actually, not mine," he added, when he reached inside, pulling out the tool. Lucy bit her lip when he flipped the blade, making sure it was still in tact, and shut it again.

"I can just borrow Dad's," she insisted when she saw the look on his face, and he glanced down.

"I don't mind, Lu," he said. "but I think I'd better be with you when you use it. The knife's pretty sharp." He stuck it in his pocket, and the two children made their way down the stairs. Susan lay on the couch in the parlor with a her copy of Shakespeare, and smiled when they passed.

"Fairy house?" she asked, recognizing the expression of deep determination on her little sister's face.

"Yes," Lucy replied with a grin. "We've still a lot to do, though, because only one wall got finished and the floor last summer." She took Peter's hand and drug him through the front door, staring when the postman came in the direction of their house. Peter gulped; he dreaded the afternoon post more than any time of the day, for there was a possibility the British Parliament would send for his father.

"Good day, sir," Peter called when the post man came to the steps and handed the eldest Pevensie son the pile of envelopes personally.

"Good day, young Master Pevensie. How are you, my boy? Looking rosier, I see."

Peter smirked; the postman took an instant concern about his health when he discovered his favorite customer's son had an attack of the measles.

"Thank you, Arthur," Peter replied, and waved when the gentleman disappeared around a corner. Lucy sat with the half-finished fairy house between her legs, and watched as her brother came back up the steps, flipping through the different pieces of mail. He stopped short when he saw an official-looking envelope, and had to keep himself from dropping everything on the spot. It was address to Mr. Jonathan Pevensie of Finchley, and had the Parliament seal in the corner.

"Are you all right?" Lucy asked, noticing the change of expression on her brother's face, and frowned deeply. "You look awful!"

Peter swallowed hard, his hands shaking, and he looked at her. "I…" he squeaked. "I have to give the mail to Mum." His father was working late at the publishing house, and would not be home until well after dinner. He hurried back inside, ignoring Lucy's confused face, and nearly ran into Edmund.

"Watch it!" Edmund snapped, and stalked off, causing Peter to roll his eyes.

"Sorry," he apologized, blowing out his breath, and went to find his mother, who was napping. He climbed onto the bed and set the mail beside him, shaking her shoulder gently.

"What is it dear?" she asked sleepily, in the midst of a yawn, and turned towards her son. "Are you feeling all right?" she reached up to feel his forehead when she saw the worry in his eyes, and smiled when she found his temperature to be normal. Mrs. Pevensie couldn't help worrying about every cough or sniffle her son had, for the sheer terror of his relapsing was always on the back of her mind. He wasn't any more active than he had been before he got sick, but that didn't matter.

"I feel okay, Mum," he insisted. "But this came for Dad." He handed her the envelope, and she peered closely at the print, covering her mouth with her hand.

"They're not going to take him away, are they?" Peter asked, his eyes widening at her horrified expression, and she glanced at him.

"Oh Peter," she choked, and immediately dropped the envelope, pulling him into her arms. He held his mother tightly, choking on sobs. He had no idea how his siblings would react to the news, but he was quite certain they would have to wait until father came home.

Peter rubbed his nose when he let go, and he offered his mother a handkerchief from his trouser pocket. "Thank you, dear,"she whispered, dabbing at her eyes, and took his hands. "Don't tell your brother or sisters just yet," Mrs. Pevensie added sternly. "We'll show the letter to father, first, and see how he wants to go about it."

Peter swallowed and nodded, and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Want me to lay with you?" he asked, feeling terrible at her distress. She stroked his hair, brushing his bangs away from his eyes, and kissed his cheek.

"That isn't necessary, sweetheart. But thank you for asking."

Peter gave a great sniff and slid down off the bed, handing her the rest of the post. "I love you, Mum," he whispered, and she smiled, nodding slowly. When he went back outside to be with Lucy, she had been using his pocket knife to scrape away some of the bark from the twigs she collected.

"What's wrong, Peter? Do you have another headache?" she asked when he put a hand against his forehead after sitting down on the rocking chair, and he blew out his breath.

"No," he croaked. "I'm all right, Lu."

She wet her lips and fitted a few pieces of the wood together, her tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth. "Ethan's knife is very sharp," she breathed, demonstrating how easily bark came off with it. Peter knelt down beside his little sister on the wood, and immediately planted a kiss on top of her head. She sighed with content as he rested his cheek against her hair, giving her a hug. After another kiss he let go, and she beamed.

"I love you," she whispered, handing him a couple of sticks, and he chuckled.

"I love you too, Lucy." He spread out as comfortably as he could, using the legs of the chair for a leaning post.

When Mr. Pevensie came home that evening, he accepted the letter from his wife, startled by the tears in her eyes. Peter lay on the couch, watching as his father pulled the slip of paper out of the envelope, and frowned when he slumped into his favorite chair.

"Is it really true, John?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, coming to sit beside him and take his hand.

"I'm afraid so, Helen," Mr. Pevensie sighed. "I have to report to the base by Monday morning." He glanced at his eldest son, and came over to the couch, patting him on the head.

"D'you really have to leave, Dad?" Peter croaked, and his father nodded.

"I'm afraid so, lad. Hopefully I wont be gone very long."

Lucy, who had been up in her room reading, came bounding down the steps grinning. "Daddy!" she squealed, but stopped short at the expression on her parent's and Peter's faces. "What's wrong?" she asked, and Edmund soon followed behind her.

"Hi, Dad!" he greeted.

"Kids, I…I've been called away to the army," Mr. Pevensie replied very softly, and Lucy stared.

"Why?" she asked, and Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Because Germany's taking over the world, stupid," he snapped, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, Ed," he growled, and allowed Lucy to crawl onto the couch beside him.

"Will you be fighting, Daddy?" Lucy asked, feeling Peter stroke her hair, and she bit her lip when Ginger licked her toes from where he lay along the floor. She didn't even notice the dog, for her attention was focused too deeply on her parents.

"I have no idea what's going to happen, love," Mr. Pevensie said sadly.

"But you're working at the publishing house," Peter began. "Can't you be excused from the army if you have a business?"

Mrs. Pevensie smiled faintly from her seat, and Mr. Pevensie smiled as well.

"I'm afraid the situation with Germany is much too serious, Peter. We may have to go to where the fighting is, but I honestly couldn't say what's going on until I arrive."

Edmund choked on a sob, and immediately wrapped his arms around his father's waist, staring up at him. "Dad, you can't just leave!" he sobbed, and Mrs. Pevensie touched his head gently. "There has to be a way out of it, there just has to be! Maybe if you say Peter's been too sick or something…"

Peter snorted, and felt Lucy take his hand. "I'm not sick anymore, Ed," he replied, and Edmund stared at him.

"No, but you were," he said defiantly, and Mr. Pevensie chuckled.

"I have a duty to this country, Edmund, and it would do no good to lie," he said softly. "I wish fate dealt us another card, but at least it provided us with one good hand." He glanced at Peter, who smiled faintly, knowing his father meant him.

"Oh John, this is just terrible," Mrs. Pevensie whispered, and Mr. Pevensie planted a kiss on his wife's lips. Lucy leaned against Peter's chest, listening to his heart beating.

"I can't deny I feel the same way, Helen," he replied, and glanced at his children.

"What are we going to tell Su when she comes home tomorrow?" Peter asked, for his other sister had gone to visit a friend that night, and called fairly recently to ask if she could spend the night.

"The truth, Peter," Mr. Pevensie replied. "That's all we can do."

Peter coughed lightly and hugged Lucy tighter, feeling comfort having his youngest sister close to him. The rest of the evening carried a very melancholy tone; no one had much of an appetite when Mrs. Pevensie brought out a tray of tea and biscuits, and Lucy was much too depressed to even read her fairytale book. She was content to cuddle with her oldest brother, occasionally reaching down to scratch Murphy or Ginger on the top of the head.

"D'you think you'll get lots of metals, Dad?" Edmund asked, scowling when Peter began to play the piano around nine o'clock, practicing a bit of Beethoven's Moonlight Senata.

"Dear, would you play something a bit more cheerful?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, her eyes welling up at the slow, sad music. Peter glanced at his mother over his shoulder, sighed, and changed the page of his music. He couldn't bring himself to play anything cheerful; he didn't feel that way.

"Let's play the Entertainer," Lucy suggested, and he blew out his breath.

"I can't," he muttered, leaning his chin in his palm, and sighing softly.

"Perk up, lad," Mr. Pevensie begged. "These hard times won't last forever."

Peter closed his eyes, feeling another headache approaching. "I'm going to bed," he said after a few moments, and Mrs. Pevensie came to feel his forehead.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked, stroking his hair, and he nodded.

"I guess," he replied, pushing the piano seat back and stood.

"Can I come with you?" Lucy asked hopefully, and he glanced at her.

"Yes, Lu," he said, and lifted her into his arms. He gave his mother and father a kiss, not even attempting one on Edmund, who gave him such a cold look that it was rather frightening.

"Good night, son," Mr. Pevensie said quietly, and watched as his eldest child carried Lucy up the steps. When they were gone, he turned to his wife, shaking his head. "Peter is taking the news badly," he said, and Edmund sat up.

"I am, too," he snarled.

"I know, Edmund," Mr. Pevensie replied. "This isn't easy for me to accept."

Mrs. Pevensie sat back in her chair, opening a book. Life hadn't been at all easy for the past few months, getting her eldest son back on his feet after the trying illness. Now that her husband was going off to the army base and possibly to war, she couldn't help but wonder if she had done something wrong in the past that caused such terrible things to happen to her family.

_It's been one thing after another, _she thought, watching as Edmund eventually got up and said goodnight, shuffling up the steps. _I just want my family to live long, healthy lives. I want the children to grow and be successful, and happy. I want them to fall in love, I want them to have their own babies. Is that so wrong of me? _She lay beside her husband, listening to his calm breathing in the dark, and the sounds of London outside of the window.


	20. Chapter 20: Sad Goodbyes

Chapter 20

_Sad Goodbyes_

Susan was just as devastated as her other siblings when she discovered the news of her father's situation the following morning. She clung to Peter helplessly, crying and shaking, making him feel rather awkward.

Edmund, as upset as he was, wore a blank expression on his face the rest of the weekend, unsure of how to display his emotions. After all, he hadn't even been able to show himself at the hospital when his brother was dying.

On Monday morning, the family gathered in the parlor, prepared to see Mr. Pevensie off. Peter caught cold on Sunday, so he was not able to join in the group meeting downstairs. However, his father came up just before he was about to leave for the base, and he placed a firm hand on his eldest son's shoulder.

"You'll be the man of the house now, lad," he said. "I'll need you to take care of your brother and sisters for me, and your mother will need your support."

Peter nodded, bundling his feet in the blankets, and he reached up to give his father a hug. "I love you, Dad," he choked, burrying his slightly feverish face against his father's shoulder. "I'll miss you."

Mr. Pevensie gave him a kiss and a pat on the back, frowning when Peter started coughing. "Take care of yourself, all right?" he asked, and Peter nodded, sniffling a little.

"I will," he promised, his eyes welling with tears as he watched his father disappear down the steps, wondering if it was the last time he'd ever see him. When Mr. Pevensie left at last, Lucy came dashing up the steps, and crawled into her brother's bed.

"Lucy, your brother's sick, sweetheart," Mrs. Pevensie scolded gently, and Peter sneezed as if to prove the point, and sighed. "Let him be, love."

"She's all right," Peter croaked, shivering a little, and Mrs. Pevensie came to check his temperature. She put a thermometer in his mouth, easing Lucy out of the way, and waited for two minutes. When she took it out, she peered at the small instrument very carefully.

"Still a little high," she sighed. "How are you feeling exactly, darling?"

Peter shrugged. "Sore throat, stuffy nose, headache…I suppose that's it," he replied. "And I'm cold."

Lucy played with a few stray pieces of fabric on Peter's extra afghan, poking her small fingers through the holes in the yarn. "Well, let me get you some tylenol for your fever and some cough syrup. Just take it easy," she encouraged, and Peter groaned…he was tired of medicine. He gasped when Lucy's bare feet touched his leg, and she stared at him.

"Your feet are cold," he muttered, and she gave him a sheapish smile.

"Sorry," she apologized as he sneezed again, and offered him a handkerchief.

"Bless you, Peter," Lucy said quietly, smoothing his forehead.

"Thanks," he sighed, and watched as Susan peeped her head through the doorway.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked, and Peter shook his head.

"No," he replied. "Could you get a pair of socks from my drawer? My feet are freezing."

Susan smiled and did as he asked, finding a pair she thought was suitable. She came over to the edge of the bed and pulled the blankets up, revealing his bare feet. "They are like ice," she said when she felt one, and pulled the socks on. "Are you sure there isnt anything else I can get for you?" she asked, and Peter shook his head, rubbing his nose with the handkerchief Lucy provided.

"No," he said. "Thanks, though."

"Come on, Lucy, let's give Peter time to get some rest," Susan said, and Lucy agreed to come down from the bed at last, pulling the blankets close to her brother's neck. Peter closed his eyes when his sisters tiptoed quietly out of the room, sighing when the door closed after them.

He thankfully felt much better on Thursday, and spent a lot of his time listening to the news on the radio. He heard nothing of Great Britain entering the war, but already other countries were battling Germany with all their strength. He wondered what his father was doing at the army base, and had to admit he was proud of him for going.

_He'll be a hero, _Peter thought, watching as Susan helped her mother bake cookies. _I hope he does get lots of metals, as Edmund said. _Unfortunately, Edmund, Lucy and Susan were to return to boarding school the week after their father left, and Mrs. Pevensie was still unsure of allowing Peter to return to his.

"You catch things much too easily," she told him the night before his siblings were to catch the train.

"But I've always had that trouble, Mum," Peter said, a bit of a pout on his face. "Please, Mum, I think I am ready to go back to school again. I'm tired of being lonely all term when the others are away."

Mrs. Pevensie gave him a hug and a kiss, peering into his deep blue eyes. "Next year," she said softly, and Peter sighed, slumping onto his bed, defeated. He was able to see his siblings off the next day, and gave Lucy a big hug after they were standing on the platform.

"I love you, Peter," she said softly, and he tweaked her nose.

"I love you, Lu," he replied, and gave Susan a peck on the cheek afterwards. He went to hug Edmund, who shied away, and scowled.

"Get off," he snapped, and Peter sighed, stepping backwards.

"Have a good term, Ed," he replied, and at that moment, the conductor called, "All aboard!" once again, and Peter waved frantically as his siblings hopped onto the train. When they were gone, he went to rejoin his mother, and she suggested they go out for lunch. Peter smiled; his mother hadn't treated him to a luncheon in ages, and he enjoyed spending time alone with her in town.

"Sounds good," he said, and kept close to her side after they parked. Mrs. Pevensie waved to those she knew in the city, and several of her friends stopped to ask Peter how he was feeling.

"He had a little cold this weekend, but he's doing well now," Mrs. Pevensie replied, stroking her son's head. She led Peter into one of the café's she enjoyed, and the two of them sat down by the window. He felt famished as he glanced through the menu, noticing how few men there were in the resturaunt. Women were either sitting alone or with other friends, or with young babies.

"Mum, how old d'you have to be to get drafted?" Peter asked, sipping from his bottle of Coke, enjoying the treat very much.

"Not until you're at least sixteen," Mrs. Pevensie replied, squeezing his hand. "Thank God all of you are much too young, yet."

Peter smiled; he was going to be turning thirteen that May. He felt as though he had been twelve years old forever. "I hope Dad's going to be all right," he admitted, and his mother smiled at him.

"So do I, love," she replied. "I am so proud of you, Peter." She smiled at the waiteress when she served them their meals, and turned back to her son. "You have come so far over the past couple of months. I know it has been a long haul for you."

Peter blew out his breath. The loss of Ethan was probably more difficult than getting through the illness, though both incidents were torturous. He wondered if his best friend was truly looking down at him from heaven now, or was he too busy catching up with his relatives who had been lost to him for so many years. _I could see Ethan having a very casual conversation while sitting on a cloud, _he thought, visualizing his friend with his legs spread comfortably apart, or laying on his stomach. Ethan was always relaxed, while Peter was usually rather uptight, but together the two of them meshed very well.

When he let out a small laugh, Mrs. Pevensie stared at him.

"What are you thinking about, love?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"I'm just thinking about what Ethan might be doing in heaven," he replied, and she smiled at him. "He's probably pulling pranks on all of the angels, which is just something he'd do," he sniggered, and Mrs. Pevensie took his hand, squeezing it. "But you can't help but laugh when he plays a joke on you," he added. "I mean, he doesn't do it to be nasty. He's just lively, that's all."

"I know loosing him was very hard, sweetheart," his mother replied.

"It was, Mum," Peter sighed. "I still miss him so much."

"And you always will," she said. "But it will get easier overtime."

Peter smiled back, nibbling on his food. When they finished lunch, they walked around a bit more, and Mrs. Pevensie allowed him to explore his favorite bookshop. He purchased a couple new novels he found interesting with the money he saved from his allowance, and carried the package to the car. By the time he and his mother returned home he was exhausted and grateful when she suggested he take a bit of a nap.

"Thanks, Mum," he replied, and kissed her on the cheek. "I had fun today."

She nodded. "I'm glad, dear. Let me know if you need anything."

Peter shuffled up the steps to his room, putting the books on the bed. He removed his shoes and lay back on the mattress, gazing at the ceiling. The weather was getting cooler, as it was the second week in September, but it still carried a hint of the previous summer's heat. Of course, the summer of 1939 wasn't nearly as hot as the summer he and Ethan got sick; but it was still miserably humid on certain days, especially in late July and August.

Peter flipped through the pages of War and Peace, a novel he'd been meaning to read for weeks now. He was very advanced for his age in literature, and could read anything at all. Of course, this trait always gave his siblings and other classmates' reason to tease him, but he didn't care.

He turned on the radio when the room got too quiet, curious to see if anything else was being reported about the pending war. So far, just commercial after commercial, and he growled in frustration, switching it off again. He missed having his father around, even though he'd only been gone for about a week.

"_Will you promise to write, Dad?" Peter asked, as Lucy wailed, clinging to his shirt. He hated seeing his siblings so upset, and watched as Edmund sat with his back to them all, refusing to acknowledge anything they said. _

"_As often as I can, son," Mr. Pevensie replied, a smile stretching across his face. "Believe me-- I'll be home again before you know it."_

Peter sighed. Ethan was in a sense, lucky to be dead. If the war did occur, at least his friend wouldn't have to be in constant terror of attack, which would most likely happen. He gazed out the window of his bedroom, watching as the sun slowly set. During the summer, the days grew longer and longer, which gave Peter and his siblings' never ending playtime. However, with fall and winter approaching, the darkness would come more swiftly.

He heard his mother moving about downstairs, and when she called him down to supper, he shut off his light and hurried down the steps to the kitchen. Nearly tripping over the dog, he cried out, and caught himself against the wall. "Are you all right?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, peeping out from the kitchen doorway, and watched as he steadied himself.

"Yes," he replied shakily. "Murphy's just laying in the way as usual." The dog gave a grunting snore as his master stepped over him, and he sat down in his seat. It was always so strange to eat without Edmund, Susan and Lucy, but it was even stranger without his father. He didn't say very much as he and his mother ate, and she noticed his silence.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Peter? You're awfully quiet," she pointed out, and he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"I just miss Dad," he replied, feeling his throat choke up. He was the oldest, and not expected to display emotions, but the silence in the house was becoming too much. Mrs. Pevensie opened her arms and pulled her eldest son into a hug, letting him cry against her shoulder.

"Shshhh," she soothed, rubbing his back. Peter lifted his head and wiped his eyes, blushing with embarrassment.

"Sorry," he whispered, and she brushed more tears away from his cheeks with her thumbs. "Dad s-said I was the man of the house, and supposed to comfort you. I shouldn't be crying like a baby."

Mrs. Pevensie kissed his forehead, and eased him into a chair. "You'll always be my baby, Peter," she promised, and he smiled faintly.

When it grew close to bed time, Peter went upstairs and pulled the box of Ethan's belongings out from underneath the bed. He opened the lid very carefully, and stared at the items inside. The fact that Mrs. Hunt felt he was important enough to Ethan to have these things, made him feel as though he'd really been part of their family as well as his own.

He carried his best friend's pocket knife pretty much wherever he went, especially when Lucy was home. He never knew when she'd want to worry on the fairy house, and he always wanted to be prepared. Peter picked Ethan's sketchbook out of the box, and flipped the front cover, which was worn with constant use.

As he began turning over the pieces of thick drawing paper, he realized just what amazing talent Ethan had as an artist. Every detail was carefully attended to, even in his earlier drawings, and he dated all of his work. Peter felt tears filling his eyes when he saw his friend's initials scribbled in the corner.

What really startled him, however, was a very lifelike portrait of himself about halfway through the sketchbook. Ethan had drawn him sleeping against one of the trees in the park on the boarding school campus, and clearly meant for Peter not to notice. When he closed his eyes, he could see Ethan sitting and very carefully sketching him, his tongue sticking a tiny bit out of the corner of his mouth while the pencil flew over the paper.

A single tear fell onto the sheet, and Peter brushed it off, sniffing, and continued to glance through the drawings. He saw the one Ethan drew on their last train ride together from school; the fairies. He sat staring at them for a long time, wonderin when the fairy house would be finished. He had half a mind to surprise Lucy with the completed project, but he knew she would be upset if he decided to work on it without her. It was their project to work on together, but he couldn't help thinking about it nonetheless.

After a while, Peter shut the box of trinkets, and slid it under his bed where it belonged. He was exhausted, and glad it was slowly passing the nine o'clock mark, and slid under the covers. It was very strange without his father in the house, but he knew he would get used to it in time.

"Just as I got used to not having siblings around for several months," he told himself as he snuggled under the blankets. Peter fell asleep at last, and didn't budge when his mother came to check on him a short while later. She brushed his bangs away from his forehead, planting a kiss gently there. After pulling the blankets closer to Peter's chin, she left the room, standing in the doorway for a couple of moments. She was so lucky to have her boy with her, especially since she'd come so close to loosing him.

Peter made a small noise and turned over, startling her, and she held her breath, half expecting him to wake up. When he didn't, Mrs. Pevensie sighed with relief, before turning and heading into her own bedroom for the remainder of the evening.


	21. Chapter 21: A Growing Panic

Chapter 21

_A Growing Panic_

Adjusting to life without Father present was proving to be more difficult than Peter hoped. In early September, the weather was growing crisp, and Peter began to feel generally tired again. His moods were changing every day, and on some afternoons he felt perfectly cheerful, and others relatively depressed. Mrs. Pevensie tried to keep her son's spirits up as best as she could, but found she was at a bit of a loss for what to do.

"I'm not hungry," he muttered on September 3rd, when his mother surprised him with a small plate of freshly baked cookies and milk for a snack in the afternoon. His father had only been gone a week, though it felt as though Mr. Pevensie had been gone a life time. Peter lay on the couch, staring out the window.

"Peter, I know you miss Daddy, but…"

"Mum, I'm fine," he insisted, and she sighed, setting the plate on the coffee table, and rubbed his back. Not only was he gloomy, but he was also very stubborn. When Lucy wrote him a letter in mid-November, his spirits lifted considerably, but were immediately shot down again when he read what she had to say.

_I feel so lonely, Peter. The girls think I'm odd, and don't really want anything to do with me at school. Ive tried to make friends, I have, truly, but I hear them whispering about me behind my back when I pass._

_Of course, Susan has her own friends, so I can't always be tagging along with her. I miss you, Peter, and Christmas can't come fast enough…_

"Oh Lu," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, and set the letter on his lap. His sister was usually quite content with her imagination for company while at home, but he hated the thought of her being so alone and depressed around so many children her age. "I'm worried about her, Mum," he said at dinner one night shortly after receiving the letter.

"Well, love, when she comes home for the holidays, you can speak to her about it if you feel it's necessary."

Peter sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I'm so tired, Mum," he complained, and Mrs. Pevensie's hand was immediately against his forehead. She sighed shakily when he didn't have a fever, and sat down again. His health generally improved since his attack of the measles, but he definitely seemed much better in the spring and summer months.

"Go and rest," she encouraged, and he sighed, stirring the last of the stew in his bowl. He put his dishes away and headed up the steps, deciding to tackle a bit of his correspondance coursework. It wasn't the same, studying at home without any teachers, and he found his new studies in Latin to be quite a bore.

As he sat at his desk picking through some of his Latin texts, he listened to the radio for background noise. Pure silence aggravated him more than anything, and he often got a headache if it was too quiet for too long. He eventually stopped scribbling on his notebook, and set his pen down, massaging his temples wearily. Whenever a song would break and the announcer would go into the most recent news, he felt his heart stop in mid beat. There was quite a bit of static, and he had to hit the radio to get it to work properly.

"…Great Britain…declared war on Germany…just…evening."

Peter stood staring, his hand raised just slightly above the knob on the machine. "MUM!" he cried, feeling panic wave over him, and he tripped over the edge of his rug, cursing to himself. "MUM! Turn on the radio, quick!" he bolted down the stairs and ran into the living room,

"Are you all right, love?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, startled by his sudden behavior, and set down the book she had been reading. Peter turned on the radio by the window, and pulled a chair close to it so he could listen. He sat staring at the speakers as the announcer continued to explain the beginning of the war, and saw his mother growing very pale.

"Oh my God," she breathed, and went to stand beside Peter, taking his hand tightly.

"I'm going to be sick," Peter gulped, and immediately hopped up from the chair, bolting for the bathroom. Mrs. Pevensie slumped down into the chair he'd been using, and listened as he retched violently. Her husband was potentially in danger, and she didn't know what to do.

When Peter eventually came out of the bathroom, he was very pale and sweaty, shivering.

"Oh love," Mrs. Pevensie breathed, coming to feel his forehead. "Go and rest, sweetheart…" she couldn't bear it if Peter were falling ill again.

"Yes, Mum," he promised, rubbing his nose with the corner of his sleeve, and half stumbled up the steps. He still felt queasy, and found himself standing in front of Lucy's bedroom door rather than his own. He needed her more than ever now, and found it hard to believe they wouldn't be home for another two months at least. He went into Lucy's room, sitting on her bed, and held her teddy bear tightly in his hands.

"_Come on, say Peter," Peter encouraged, holding his two year old sister on his lap. Lucy stared at him through her big brown eyes, and wet her lips. "Pe-ter. You can do it."_

"_She's not able to talk yet," Edmund smirked as he came in, watching as Lucy tugged on the collar of her eldest brother's shirt. Peter rolled his eyes, taking Lucy's small hands, and kissing one of them gently. _

"_Don't listen to your great sod of a brother, Lucy. Come on, now. Pe-ter."_

"_Peeyer!" Lucy squealed, and Edmund burst out laughing, pointing a finger at him. "Peeyer!" she repeated, grinning, and Peter raised an eyebrow, sighing heavily. _

"_Close enough," he finally said._

Peter smiled faintly at the memory, and how he had been "Peeyer" for at least a year. He insisted on teaching Lucy everything he knew, and was almost regarded as her father figure rather than Mr. Pevensie himself. As he thought of his father, probably fighting this very minute—or at least getting ready to, he felt tears falling down his cheeks again. He tried to focus on Lucy's room, with her sweet little child decorations and nick nacks.

Lucy's bedroom was smaller than the rest, and was filled with her dolls and other toys. Her wallpaper was a light pink with butterflies along the trim, and her blankets were white trimmed with pink lace. He set the teddy bear down again where he'd found it and stood, smoothing the wrinkles he'd made on her covers. Next he peeked into Susan's room, which was much more simply decorated. She had white walls, and the comfortor on her bed was a checkered blue. Her desk was very neat, and contained photographs and a pile of books.

Peter sighed and peered at the titles of the books she kept in easy reach: _The Complete book of Shakespeare, Geoffrey Chaucers' Canterberry Tales, The Iliad, The Secret Garden…_

Susan's room overlooked the rooftop of their nextdoor neighbor, whom they rarely ever saw. All they knew of their neighbor, was the fact that it was a rather ornery old woman named Mrs. Weatherby, who preferred to keep to herself.

He paused when he started to go to Edmund's door after leaving Susan's room, and rested his head against the wall for a moment. He couldn't go in there as easily as he could his sister's, because there was a sense of something dreadfully forbidden.

"What are you doing, Peter? Did I not tell you to lay down?"

Peter jumped when he heard his mother's voice from behind, and he turned around, blushing.

"Oh…nothing," he promised. "I'm…just thinking."

Mrs. Pevensie smiled softly, and came to put a hand on his shoulder. "They'll be home before you know it, love," she promised, kissing his cheek. She sounded very strained, and Peter clung to her, sighing shakily.

"I'm so scared, Mum," he croaked, and she kissed him on the cheek.

"I am, too," she said. "But Daddy is very brave, and I'm sure he'll come through this just fine."

Peter bit his lip, leaning against her.

"Mum?" Peter turned to her. "Can I ask you something, that doesn't involve the war?" he asked, and Mrs. Pevensie smiled, nodding.

"Love, I would be most appreciative to change the subject."

Peter cleared his throat, staring at his lap. "D'you think Edmund hates me?"

Mrs. Pevensie stared, her mouth hanging open. She hadn't been expecting this as a subject, for certain. "Whatever made you think such a thing?" she gasped, and Peter shrugged, once they were back in his own room, and flopped down on his bed.

"I don't know." He bit his lip. "I've been trying to ignore it…to go on as we used to before…everything happened." He sighed shakily. "But we fought so badly the night I came home, and I just feel really awful everytime he's here."

Mrs. Pevensie stroked his hair, letting him lean against her, taking his hand. "Peter," she began quietly, "Edmund…he's…he handles stressful situations much differently than the rest of you. He was very scared when you were in the hospital, love, and I know he didn't want anything to happen to you. The fear of everything became too much for him, and he didn't know how to handle it. He's still young, sweetheart. Give him time."

Peter wet his lips, raising his eyes. Edmund was eight years old…how much time did he need to learn to treat his older brother with more respect? "It's just not fair, Mum" he whispered, and she pressed her forehead against his. "Why can't he just treat me like Lucy and Susan do?"

"Shhhhhhsh," she soothed, and Peter swallowed, laying across his mother's lap, and allowed her to cuddle him a while. She felt his tears drip onto her hand, and she bent low to kiss his temple. "Shhhhhsh, love."

Peter closed his eyes, hating to appear weak in front of his mother. He'd been feeling generally depressed these days without his father, and though he hid it in most cases, sometimes the sense of loss got too much

He lay with her for a long time, crying himself into a light doze. Mrs. Pevensie hated the thought of disturbing him once he was asleep, but had to eventually. Peter was no longer the little baby she could hold for hours on end; he was growing up so fast.

She eventually eased him into a sitting position at last, bringing him to the bathroom so he could wash his face.

"Thanks, Mum," he croaked after she tucked him in. "I love you," he added, and Mrs. Pevensie gave him another kiss. Peter reached his arms into the air and allowed her to pull him into a tight hug, and she pressed her cheek against his hair.

"I don't know what I would have done if I had to let you go," she whispered into his ear. Peter swallowed, thinking of how awful it would have been if he had to leave his family without getting to say goodbye. He couldn't imagine what Mrs. Hunt went through when she lost Ethan, though he was sure after the long, agonizing struggle his friend went through, it was probably a feeling of relief in a sense.

He lay back against his pillows, watching as she peered at him through the doorway for a couple of moments, and closed his eyes when she eventually left.

Over the next couple of weeks, Peter listened to every bit of news of the current status of the war, and discovered that not only did Britain declare war on Germany, but so did France, Australia, and New Zealand. The British were bombing the German cities as fast as they could, and the danger seemed closer to home with every situation.

Peter had never been happier when the Christmas holiday came around again at last, anxious to see his siblings. He felt too tired to come with his mother to the train station, but waited on the porch for them dressed in a heavy coat and blankets.

"PETER!" Lucy nearly leapt out of the moving car, but had to be pulled back by Susan. He hopped to his feet and opened his arms, scooping his youngest sister into the air, twirling her around. The last thing he wanted was to greet them with a gloomy face; it was their favorite holiday, and he knew his father would still want everything to go on as it always did.

Lucy squealed with delight, clinging to his neck, and was breathless when he set her down again.

He turned to Susan, who's eyes widened with surprise. "Oh no you don't," she shrieked with laughter as he came for her next, and tried to escape his wrath of tickles. "Come here, you," he teased, and she tried to fend him off, clutching her sides. "Peter, NO!"

"Stop trying to be Dad," Edmund snapped after he got out of the car, and silence filled the air as the two boys stared at each other. Clearly the news of the British army reached Edmund, and he was even nastier than usual.

"Edmund!" Mrs. Pevensie warned turning to Peter worriedly. "That was unnecessary."

"I wasn't trying to be Dad," Peter growled.

"Dad doesn't tickle Susan," Lucy added, and Peter put a hand on her head, not wanting her to get in the middle of this. Edmund pushed past them without another word, and stomped up the steps, into the house. Susan bit her lip and looked down at her feet, hating the friction between her two brothers.

"Come on, dears," Mrs. Pevensie spoke up after a few moments. "Peter, hurry inside before you catch cold."

Peter picked up Lucy and carried her into the house, shivering a little after shutting the door.

"I missed you," she said, breathless with excitement. "Did you get my letter?"

He nodded, stroking her hair gently. "I think we need to talk," he said, and she frowned.

"'Bout what?" she asked, and he glanced at Susan, who was struggling with her suitcases.

"Need help, Su?" he asked, and Susan shook her head, smiling.

"No, thanks, Peter," she promised. "Any word from Dad yet?" Susan asked, once she set her trunks down, and sat on top of them.

Peter shook his head sadly, and took her hand. "It's going to be okay," he promised, and she smiled faintly.

"I hope you're right," she sighed, putting her chin in her palm.

"Come on, Lu," peter encouraged. "Let's get your things unpacked." He helped his little sister with her luggage, and the two of them went upstairs. When they were in her room, he shut the door, and encouraged her to sit down on her bed.

"What's wrong, Peter?" Lucy asked, biting her nail. "Are you scared about Daddy?"

He sat down beside her, and smiled softly. "Dad'll be fine, Lucy," he tried to sound more confident than he felt. "But what's been going on at school?"

Lucy frowned, lowering her head. "Nobody likes me," she whimpered, and he pulled her into a hug.

"I don't see how they couldn't," he said, and Lucy looked at him wearily. "I wish I could help." He planted a kiss on the top of her head, and she sighed, hugging him around the waist.

"Come and beat them up," she whispered, and he laughed, tweaking her nose. "Ack!" she swatted his hand away, and stuck out her tongue. "Is Mummy ever gonna let you come back to school?" she asked, and Peter frowned deeply.

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "She said next year, but she said that about this year, too." He shrugged.

"Oh." Lucy sat up. "D'you think the war'll come here, Peter?" she asked, and he stared at her.

"What?" he gave her a startled look.

"Edmund said Germany's more powerful than we are, and they could crush us at any moment."

Peter growled, and wanted nothing more than to give his younger brother a great kick.

"Don't listen to what Ed tells you," he insisted. "He's just a git, anyway."

Lucy giggled. "I got you something good for Christmas," she teased, and he watched as she hopped down from the bed, beginning to put her things away.

"Oh really?" he asked, giving her a teasing grin, and she nodded eagerly.

"And I made it myself!"

He sighed happily, watching as Lucy crawled onto the bed and cuddled with him for a moment. "Christmas won't be the same this year without Daddy," she said quietly, and he frowned, knowing how right she was. Even with his busy work schedule, Mr. Pevensie always took the Christmas holiday off, and made sure to spend the entire day with his family.

"It won't be the same, Lu—your'e right," Peter agreed, just as Susan peeped in. "But we'll still have a good time anyway." He smiled when Susan joined him on the bed. Edmund paused at the doorway as he headed downstairs, and when Peter caught his eye, he immediately bolted off as fast as he could.

Lucy curled on Peter's lap, smiling softly when he rubbed herback in gentle circles. Susan was quite content to lean against her brother's shoulder, closing her eyes against his light breathing.

Mrs. Pevensie eventually called them down for supper, and Peter was grateful to have them around the table again. Only—he glanced at the empty chair at the head of it, and saw Edmund doing the same.

"Doesn't seem real, does it?" Susan asked. "I mean…Daddy off at war."

Lucy paused in her chewing, and gave Peter a small frown. Mrs. Pevensie took Susan's hand, squeezing it.

"We're going to have a wonderful Christmas," she promised. "Daddy would have wanted it."

Edmund suddenly pushed his chair back and stood up, storming out of the room without even excusing himself. Peter set down his silverwear, rolling his eyes with aggravation.

"Don't, love," Mrs. Pevensie began when he started to stand as well. "Let him be for now."

Susan leaned her chin in her palm once again, blowing out her breath.

The rest of dinner passed quietly, and after the dishes were clean, the four of them went into the living room. Lucy encouraged Peter to read to her from Ethan's collection of Grimm's Fairytales, and Susan curled at his feet while he obliged.

It wasn't until Lucy fell sound asleep that he decided to check on Edmund, after tucking his younger sister in, of course.

"Ed?" Peter knocked on his younger brother's door softly. "Can I come in?"

Edmund lay on his bed, his face to the wall. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and the last thing he wanted was to give into Peter's coddling.

"Go away, Peter," he snapped, his voice hoarse.

"Are you…" Peter continued.

"BUGGER OFF!" Edmund practically screamed, and Peter stepped away at once, lowering his head. Susan found him a moment later, and took him gently by the arm.

"I'm not…I'm not feeling well," Peter whispered, looking at her weakly. "I'm going to bed."

Susan stood alone in the hall as Peter went into his own room, shutting the door behind him.


	22. Chapter 22: Another Christmas

Chapter 22

_Another Christmas_

Christmas morning of 1939 dawned bright and cold, but unlike the previous year, not a single dusting of snow could be found.

Peter, feeling a bit ill, slept later than the rest of his siblings. He didn't have a fever, much to his mother's relief, but he had a sore throat and a headache. Lucy curled at his feet to keep him warm while he watched the rest of the family open presents, and he was grateful it was Edmund's turn to go first this time.

As Edmund went through packages, he paused when he picked up one that said "Love Peter" on a tiny tag. Peter had gotten his brother a gift earlier that month, despite the little voice in his head telling him not to. _He's still my brother, even if he is a git, _he thought, pulling the throw blanket closer to his chin.

"What'd you go and do that for, Peter?" Edmund asked, after a few moments of stunned silence, and Mrs. Pevensie gave him a scolding look.

"Edmund, please try to be civil to your brother," she begged, and with a low sigh, he tore the paper from the box. On the lid was the local candy shop name printed in light blue letters, and after popping it open, Edmund saw a pile of Turkish Delight nestled amongst white tissue paper.

"Ooooh," Lucy breathed when she realized what he'd gotten. "Peter, that's Edmund's favorite!"

Edmund blinked, glancing over his shoulder at his older brother, and Peter frowned. He wasn't sure how to decipher the expression on the younger boy's face, though he wasn't sure what kind of reaction he was expecting.

"You still like it, don't you Ed?" he asked hopefully, because as long as he could remember, Edmund always loved that specific candy. Of course, it was rarely availible, because Mrs. Pevensie looked down on her children eating too many sweets.

"Um…" Edmund nodded. "Yes. Thanks, uh, Peter." He shut the box after a moment and set it aside without another word, and an uncomfortable, tense silence filled the air once again.

"Peter, that was lovely," Mrs. Pevensie complimented, not wanting this type of atmosphere on such an occasion. "Susan, dear, why don't you go next?"

Everyone's spirits lifted as she began to sort through her pile, showing genuine appreciation for everything she received. Lucy insisted Peter go next, and prompted him to open a large, flat package from her.

"So this is the mysterious gift, huh Lu?" he asked in a teasing tone as he took it from her, and she nodded eagerly.

"Go on, open it," she begged, and laughing quietly, he carefully took the paper off. Everyone held their breaths and peered closely, anxious to see what Lucy had gotten him. Peter found himself staring at a very impressive drawing of he, Ethan and herself, surrounded by a swarm of fairies.

Susan bit her lip, remembering how tearful he'd gotten when he saw the picture of the fairy house Lucy showed him the year before.

"Are you all right, Peter?" she asked, and he nodded, glancing at Lucy.

"You drew this yourself?" he asked, stunned, and fingered the protective cardboard frame carefully.

"Yes," Lucy replied softly. "Our art teacher asked us to draw something or someone we cared about very much."

Peter hugged her tightly, and pressed his lips against her hair.

"That's beautiful, Lucy," Susan breathed, when Peter passed the drawing around.

"Thanks," she replied with a smile, and after the drawing was returned to its owner, Peter began opening the rest of his gifts. He received a brand new, long, grey wool coat from his mother.

"You're a young man now, so I thought your clothing should reflect as such," Mrs. Pevensie explained, when he held it up, fingering the dark buttons.

"Try it on," Lucy encouraged, bouncing up and down, and Susan helped Peter to his feet so he could slip into it. The sleeves were a bit long, but it was very warm and comfortable.

"Of course, you still have a bit of growing to do," Mrs. Pevensie chuckled, and he went to hug and kiss her.

"Thanks, Mum," he whispered, and after taking it off, went to lay back down on the couch. The rest of the gift opening passed quickly, and afterwards, the girls went to help their mother cook breakfast in the kitchen. Peter dozed in the meantime, still feeling a bit dizzy.

Edmund watched his brother from where he sat, reading a new book on trains, and turned to the Turkish delight box beside him. He couldn't remember the last time he had the privelage of tasting one, and snuck it into his room when no one else was paying attention. He popped a piece into his mouth, and closed his eyes as he savored a raspberry flavored jelly. Each candy was coated with powdered white sugar, and of course, left a mustache on his face. He quickly wiped it, not wanting his mother to know he'd been eating sweets before breakfast, and immediately shoved the remainder of the candy into his desk.

Mrs. Pevensie came into the parlor while pancakes and sausages were cooking on the stove, and felt Peter's forehead. She sighed with relief when he didn't show any signs of a fever yet, but frowned when he coughed and turned on his side. She planted a kiss on his temple, smoothing his bangs away from his eyes.

"Don't feel well, Mum," he croaked, sniffling, and she nodded.

"I know, love. You aren't feverish, though. Where does it hurt? Your throat, still?"

He nodded weakly. "And my head," he added, and she tucked him in a bit more tightly.

"Just rest your eyes, then. Do you think you'll be able to take in a bit of breakfast?"

Peter shook his head, and she squeezed his hand.

"All right. I'll make you a cup of tea, and we'll let you sleep."

Peter sighed and closed his eyes again, listening to his sister's giggles as they took care of business in the kitchen.

Thankfully, he felt better later in the afternoon, and was able to play a couple of duets with Lucy at the piano. They played _Come All Ye Faithful, Joy to the World, _and _Jingle Bells. _Edmund sat with his mother listening to the cheerful music, somewhat bitter that everyone was trying to disguise their sadness of Mr. Pevensie's absence. The fact that his father was no longer there to confide in ate away at Edmund's heart, and he wanted nothing more than to scream as loud as he could, or break down into endless sobs.

It began to snow later that night, and the family sat gazing out the window as the thick white flakes covered the frosty ground.

The next morning, London was covered with a thick blanket of snow, and Peter joined his siblings outside for a snowball fight. He and Lucy partnered against Susan and Edmund, and shrieks of laughter filled the air as they began pelting each other relentlessly with the cold, icy missiles.

Lucy eventually tackled Peter to the ground, and the two began rolling around in the snow, scolded by Susan when she saw them.

"Your new coat is getting soaked," she said, and Peter, breathless, struggled to his feet. He stuck his tongue out at her playfully, and she tossed a handful of snow at his face.

They stayed outside for hours, until Mrs. Pevensie ordered them in for lunch.

"You're drenched!" she gasped when she saw Peter's shivering form, and ordered him to stay inside for the rest of the day.

"Sorry," he apologized, and she felt his frozen cheeks.

"I do wish you would be more careful, love," she sighed, and he fought back a groan.

The Christmas holidays flew past, much to Peter's disappointment, and he was very sad when he had to see his siblings off to school for the remainder of their term.

Mrs. Hunt invited Peter to spend a couple of days at the seashore with her in March much to his surprise, and together they once again took a short visit to Ethan's grave.

"How are you doing these days, dear?" Mrs. Hunt asked as they sat having tea on the porch of her home, enjoying the slightly warmer weather of early spring.

"Much better, thanks," Peter replied. "I mean, I still get sad when I think about Ethan, and it's hard when Susan, Lucy and Edmund are away at school. At least when they're home, I'm distracted." He shivered a little, taking a sip from his mug.

"Good," she said with a smile. "You've come a long way, Peter. I am sorry that your father had to go off to the war, and I am sure you miss him terribly."

Peter fingered his mug and nodded. "It's been hard on all of us," he admitted. "Edmund, especially. It would be better if we've heard from Dad, but so far he hasn't sent us any letters since he left. Mum's getting anxiuous."

Mrs. Hunt nodded in understanding, and leaned back in her chair. "I'm certain he'll write when he gets a chance," she replied.

"Dad said I was to be the man of the house while he was gone, to keep an eye on my siblings for Mum when they're home. But I…I feel like I'm..." he shrugged. "I really am trying," he added, and Mrs. Hunt touched his shoulder.

"And that is all your father can expect of you, dear. You're very young yet, and have a lot to learn. But just seeing you with your siblings last Christmas, I have no doubt you have the ability to take care of them and protect them."

Peter smiled at last, and gave Mrs. Hunt a hug.

When he returned home after his holiday, Mrs. Pevensie presented Peter with his father's first letter.

"It just arrived this morning," she breathed as he eagerly pulled the two pieces of paper out of the envelope.

_To my dear family:_

_I apologize for not being able to contact you sooner, but had no time as we were immediately sent into combat barely a week after I enlisted. Things are very grizzly here, and the amount of death and destruction is unbearable at points. I am well, thankfully, though several of my comrades are either injured or have recently died in attacks. _

Peter felt tears filling his eyes as he read his father's letter, his hands shaking when he began asking about his children, asking if he was doing well.

_The outcome of the war is a very vague subject at this point in time, though I am quite certain I will see you all again as soon as God permits. I love you all dearly, and hope to write again as quickly as I am able._

"Thank God he's still safe," Mrs. Pevensie breathed as she saw tears falling down her eldest son's cheeks. Peter folded the letter after he finished with it, and handed it back to his mother.

"What's going to happen, Mum?" he asked hoarsley, and she pulled him into her arms. "The Germans are getting really angry, and I'm so scared they'll start attacking us."

Mrs. Pevensie kissed the top of his head. "Don't worry, love," she said softly. "Just focus on your lessons."

Peter raised an eyebrow, taking this as a lead to go up and study his algebra and latin books. As he sat pouring over the countless pages of dry text, he couldn't help but feel the back of his neck prickle with apprehension. So far, the country of England appeared to be safe from the violence of the current war, but a sense of forboding settled over it as a whole.

"Ethan, I wish you were here," he thought aloud, taking his best friend's photograph out of his desk. "I wish I could talk to you." He stared at the worn photograph for a long time, chewing on his lower lip. After putting it safely away, he shut his school books and put them away on the shelves.


	23. Chapter 23: Wartime

Chapter 23

Wartime

World War II exploded over the next year and a half, bringing death and destruction that was too numerous to keep track. The Pevensie children awaited any news from their father, but the letters were very few and far between.

Peter, now fourteen and a half going on fifteen, was nearly completely well. He was allowed to return to school in September of 1940, but the constant threat of bombings was too great, so the children were sent home to be with their families.

When the German air raid attacks on London were considered immient, parents began contacting relatives who lived in the countryside to take their children away to safety. Mrs. Pevensie called everyone she knew, and when it had been a good stretch of time before she heard anything, Peter helped his mother build a bomb shelter to protect them in case. It was made of strong steel and wood collected from the local junkyard, and took them hours to construct.

Susan and Lucy helped bring food and canteens of water in there for storage, and they were constantly on the alert.

One afternoon in late April, while the weather was still fairly chilly after the long winter broke, Mrs. Pevensie sat at the living room desk flipping through her address book. Peter came into the room from having finished making Lucy lunch in the kitchen, and watched her sadly.

"Mum?" he asked in a quiet voice, and Mrs. Pevensie turned to look at him. "Have you had any luck?" he coughed and made his way into the living room, peering over his mother's shoulder. He'd been pretty well at school, and appreciated the condolences given by his classmates over Ethan's passing. "It must have been very hard," they said. "We really liked him." Now of course, Peter felt as though he were coming down with a cold, something he didn't want to deal with at this point.

"No," she replied. "I don't know what to do." she took Peter's hand, squeezing it tightly. "You're frozen," she added, and reached up to feel his forehead. "Are you feeling all right, dear?"

Peter shrugged, rubbing his nose, and stepped back a pace. "I guess," he answered, just as Lucy came into the living room, having finished eating her sandwich. "Hi," he greeted, and shook his head with a smirk…Lucy had a bit of a jelly mustache around her face, and he went to wipe it off for her with his handkerchief.

"Urgh!" she groaned, her entire face screwing up as he cleaned her up, and she gave a heavy sigh. "I'm bored," she whined, sitting down after he joined her in the kitchen again, where Susan was drinking from her cup of milk.

"Has Mum had any luck yet?" Susan asked, and Peter shook his head.

"No," he replied. "And she's pretty worried. I don't blame her, either…she's been looking for the past two weeks."

Lucy bit her lip, glancing out the window. It was a beautiful spring day, and she'd been outside romping around the yard for hours since breakfast ended. Even though the sun was hot, the breeze was comfortably cool, as long as you were in the shade. Edmund was nowhere to be found, but Peter had a feeling he was walking repeatedly past the local candy shop, which was only a couple of blocks away from the house. He tended to do that when things got a bit too stressful.

Speaking of the devil, Edmund came in, his hair tossled by the wind, and he carried a small paper bag in his hands.

"Where have you been all this time?" Susan asked, and he shrugged.

"Around," he replied, and brushed past them, heading up to his bedroom.

"Oh, he's impossible," Susan groaned, and Peter smiled at her, having to sneeze a short while later.

"Bless you," Lucy giggled, and he leaned his chin in his palm, wanting to go to sleep.

"You sound like you have a cold, Peter," Susan pointed out, and he made a face at her. "We could hear you coughing all night." she nodded to Lucy; the two girls were the only ones who had to share a room, but they didn't mind at all.

"Sorry," he apologized, and at that very moment, the telephone rang. The three children jumped, and Susan went to answer it as she was closest, her eyes raising when the person on the other end identified him/herself.

"Who is that?" Lucy asked, her eyes wide as well, and Peter jumped when Susan called their mother into the kitchen.

"Professor Kirke's on the phone, Mum!"

Mrs. Pevensie came rushing into the kitchen, and thanked her eldest daughter after taking the phone into her hand. Peter held his breath while he heard his mother talking, and felt his heart racing when he saw her lips break into an enormous smile.

"Oh Professor Kirke, I would be in your debt…" she gasped. "No, it's been impossible, quite honestly…I was starting to give up hope. Are you sure?"

Lucy wet her lips, and Susan was grinning, turning to Peter with sparkling eyes. "Tuesday sounds wonderful. Thank you again, Professor. Goodbye." she hung up, and let out a cry of delight, throwing her arms around Peter and squeezing the life out of him.

"Muuuum…" he gasped, and she kissed him, eventually pulling Susan into a hug as well. "who was that?"

"Who is Professor Kirke?" Susan added, and Peter raised an eyebrow at her.

"He's your father's old teacher from university years ago, and they shared quite a bond of friendship after Daddy graduated," she explained. "Professor Kirke lives in a great mansion in Coombe Halt, which is out in the country. He has agreed to take you four in until the war ends, or the danger in London ceases."

Susan covered her mouth with her hands, and Lucy bit her lip.

"When are we leaving?" she asked, and Peter had to sneeze again, stepping away again.

"Bless you dear," Mrs. Pevensie chuckled, and he blew his nose with a napkin, sighing heavily. "He said he should be ready by next Tuesday. His housekeeper is on vacation right now, and will be back this weekend; he wanted to make sure she was forewarned of your arrival before you came."

Susan sighed with relief, and hugged her mother again, glad it was working out.

"Oh good," she said. "

"Where is Edmund?" Mrs. Pevensie added. "Honestly, whatever has gotten into your brother, I have no idea."

Peter pointed up at the ceiling. "He's in his room," he replied. "Looks like he used some of his allowance on candy again."

Mrs. Pevensie clucked her tongue, and excused herself so she could go and tell Edmund the news. When she was out of earshot, Lucy let out a soft "oooh," and Peter hugged her tightly.

"He sounded like a nice gentleman on the telephone," Susan pointed out. "Very quiet, though."

"I've never heard of him," Peter admitted. "Don't you think Dad would have told us about him if…"

"Maybe he didn't have a reason to," Susan suggested. "Dad doesn't usually talk about his friends, anyway. He's usually too busy with the publishing house."

That was true, but Peter wasn't sure how comfortable he felt going into the home of a complete stranger for who knew how long. Still, it wasn't as though he knew anyone that lived out in the country--but he had been holding onto the tiny bit of hope that he might be able to spend that time with Mrs. Hunt at the seashore.

"I'm glad we're going to be safe," Susan added. "I mean…nothing's happened yet, but…" she shrugged. "I'd rather be away where there is no threat."

Lucy took Peter's arm. "Can we work on the fairy house?" she asked, and he glanced at her, realzing they hadn't done much on that in a while.

"I don't feel too well, Lu…I might go and lay down," he replied, and she stuck out her lower lip in a pout. Susan put a hand on his shoulder and encouraged him to make his way up to bed.

"I can help you with it," she suggested, and Peter paused on his way out of the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder. Lucy looked uncomfortable; it was a project she and Peter worked on together alone…their time to spend with each other.

"That's okay," she replied. "I'll just go and pick some flowers instead."

Susan looked a little hurt, but decided not to press matters. She went into the living room to read, and Peter headed up the stairs to his bedroom. He could hear his mother talking to Edmund in the room next door to his own, and it sounded more like an argument than a discussion.

"Why do we have to go away?" Edmund cried. "We're not babies!"

"You're not understanding the danger of this, Edmund," Mrs. Pevensie replied sternly, and Peter shook his head as he pulled off his shoes, laying down on his bed.

"But the country is BORING! And I don't want to live with some old man who'll probably have tons of rules and not let us do anything!"

Peter rubbed his nose and burried his face against the pillow…he hated how his younger brother made everything so difficult. Eventually he drifted off into a light doze, only to be awoken by his mother a short time later after she was through with Edmund. She checked his temperature again, frowning when she realized he had a bit of a fever.

"Mum?" Peter croaked, coughing into a fist, and she smiled faintly.

"You'll feel better soon, love," she replied. "Let me get some cough medicine for you, and just rest, all right?" she brushed his bangs away from his forehead, and kissed him before heading to the medicine chest for the dreaded dark bottle. She gave him the medicine, which tasted horribly bitter, and then went to make dinner for the rest of the family.

The rest of the evening continued on as normal; Lucy was sent to bed around 8:30, and she peeped in to check on her oldest brother, worried about him. Peter continued to lay still, trying to ward off dizziness, though the rumbling noise in the distance wasn't helping his headache. Susan and Edmund were still awake, and he could hear their voices from downstairs in the parlor.

"What's that?" he heard Susan cry as the rumbling grew louder, and his heart leapt into his throat. It was getting late, but there was still hints of sunlight in the sky.

"Sounds like an airplane or something," Edmund replied, sounding rather excited.

"Mother…mother, d'you think they could be ours?" Susan asked, and Mrs. Pevensie turned on the radio, feeling her heart fill with fear.

"_German fighter planes sighted a mile away from London…"_

"Susan?" she began in a calm voice, though the look in her eyes showed just how anxious she was. "Go and wake your brother, and tell him we're to report to the shelter right away."

"Oh my God," Susan gasped, and Edmund stood up, his mouth hanging open. Susan did as she was told at once, dashing upstairs just as they heard what sounded like an explosion in the distance. The entire house shook from the force of the noise, and Lucy immediately awoke in her bed, screaming out in horror. She clutched her little stuffed dog in her arms…it had been a gift from Peter for her birthday, and lay rigid with fear.

"PETER!" Susan cried, and she didn't even have to wake him, for he was already out of bed and putting on his shoes.

"Susan…what's going on?" he cried, and the two of them peered out the window of his bedroom, watching as a street in the distance blazed with the orange light of flames. Susan covered her mouth with her hands as she saw a swarm of dark figures flying towards their town, which just hours before, was peaceful.

"We're being bombed," he gasped, and Susan immediately tore from the room, reaching the one she shared with Lucy, and saw her youngest sister laying there with her arms covering her head.

"MUMMY!" Lucy cried, and Susan picked up a flash light sitting on her dresser, shining it at the little girl's face.

"Lucy, it's time to get up…" she ordered. "We have to go."

"Peter…where's Peter?" Lucy choked as Susan practically drug her out of the bed, and Peter peered in at that moment, his face brightening as another explosion caused flames to shoot up nearby once again. Even though the bombs weren't hitting their exact location, they were close enough to exert that kind of force.

"Lucy?" he called, and Lucy leapt into his arms, still wearing her nightgown, and clung to his neck as he carried her down the steps, finding his mother dashing this way and that, grabbing blankets, pillows, and their coats.

"Oh Peter," she breathed. "Quickly…we have to get to the shelters…not much time."

Peter nodded, setting Lucy to the floor, and told her to follow Susan outside at once.

"I won't leave you," Lucy sobbed, and he touched her shoulder, promising he would be out as soon as they had everything they needed.

"Come on, Lu!" Susan snapped, grabbing her little sister's hand, and pulling her towards the back door. Edmund stood in the living room, watching through the front doorway as the bombs continued to explode around them. It was an awesome sight, though positively terrifying at the same time. He couldn't tear his vision away from outside, even though he heard his family panicking as they prepared to leave the house.

"EDMUND!" Mrs. Pevensie finally saw what he was doing, and dashed over to the door, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Get away from there!"

He jumped and turned to face her, in a bit of a daze. "Peter…I think that's all we need…get to the shelters, NOW."

Peter agreed at once, and demanded that Edmund come with him. Edmund scowled…he hated being pushed around by his older brother, and normally would have retorted would it have not been for his mother's panicked voice.

"Come ON!" Peter grabbed Edmund's arm with his free hand; the other held a pile of blankets from the linen closet. "We're leaving!"

"Get OFF," Edmund snapped, wrenching away from his brother's grasp. "I'm not stupid…I'm coming."

A moment later another explosion occurred, and this one was only a street away from their own. Peter tripped on the way out, falling on all fours to the front lawn. He choked on a cry of pain as he hit the ground, and Mrs. Pevensie picked her son up carefully, asking if he were all right.

"I'm fine," he squeaked, grabbing the blankets, and prepared to run for the shelter again. He barely made it a few feet when Edmund decided to bolt for the house again, realizing he'd forgotten his father's picture.

"DAD!" Edmund shouted, and tore for the kitchen door, causing Peter to drop everything in alarm once again.

"EDMUND, don't!" Mrs. Pevensie screamed; Susan and Lucy were watching through the shelter door, their faces white with terror.

"I'll get him!" Peter promised, and before his mother could protest, he dove into the house after his brother, while another bomb struck, this time hitting their street. Peter could feel the heat from the flames as it billowed out from the front of their house, and shielded his eyes as the windows blew in, showering them with tiny pieces of glass. Edmund snatched Mr. Pevensie's picture from the desk; it had fallen over, and part of the glass had cracked as a result.

"Come on, you idiot," Peter snapped, his voice growing hoarser because of his cold, and Edmund blinked. "Run!"

He managed to grab his younger brother's free hand, and drug him through the kitchen door, finally making it outside. Mrs. Pevensie waited for them in the shelter doorway, and encouraged them to hurry in at once. Peter shoved Edmund through the tiny doorway, watching as he fell to the floor inches from his mother. Susan held Lucy under the table, and she was crying from all of the loud noise.

"Why can't you think about anyone but yourself?" Peter yelled, once he'd gotten in. "You're so SELFISH!" tears streamed down his face…he'd never been more furious with his brother; well, the last time he'd been this angry was after he'd come home from the hospital following his near death experience. He swung the door shut so hard that the shelter trembled a little. "You could have gotten us killed, did you even think of that?"

Mrs. Pevensie knew it was best not to involve her opinion, not at the moment anyway. She knew Peter needed to get his feelings off of his chest; he tended to make himself feel worse if he hid his emotions. He took deep breaths, clenching his fists at his sides…he wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, and collapsed onto the steps, burrying his face in his lap.

Edmund snuffled, his lower lip sticking out…Mr. Pevensie's photograph sat beside him.

"Peter," Mrs. Pevensie soothed, releasing Edmund from her embrace, and went to sit next to her eldest son on the steps. Peter sniffed, rubbing his nose, and leaned against her. The explosions were still going on around them, and each one made the ground feel as though it were going to open up and swallow them. "I understand you're upset, but raising your voice never helps." she kissed his forehead, and he gazed into her eyes, looking a bit sheapish.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "Edmund just makes me so mad sometimes."

Susan let Lucy sit up…she'd been laying across her lap for a while, and the little girl crawled out from under the table.

"I am here you know, Peter," Edmund growled. "you don't have to talk about me as though I'm a piece of furniture."

Peter glared at him. "You don't want to know what I want to say to you in person," he muttered, and Mrs. Pevensie squeezed his arm in warning.

"Go on, Peter," Edmund growled. "Tell me what you think of me. I'd probably get a good laugh over it."

Peter started for his younger brother, but Mrs. Pevensie held him back.

"This is NOT the time for bickering," she said. "Let us just try to get through the night alive."

Lucy crept towards Peter, unsure if he wanted her nearby or not. He caught sight of her after a moment or two, and reached out for her.

"Lu," he whispered, and she took his hand, sitting down on his lap.

For hours they sat in silence, except for Peter's sneezing and coughing every now and again. Susan dozed under the table, and Edmund sat with his back to his siblings, his knees drawn to his chest. Lucy fell asleep against Peter, and he wrapped a small blanket around her…it was hard to get comfortable enough to fall asleep, knowing the danger they were in.

The explosions were quite regular through the night, and the silence only came around 9:30 the following morning. Peter had finally fallen asleep when that occurred, his joints sore from the uncomfortable position he had to rest in. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw his mother checking their supplies, making sure everything was in order for breakfast.

"Mum?" he asked, finding his nose to be completely stuffed up. Lucy shifted her weight next to him, and licked her lips, which were dry.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Pevensie greeted, offering him a fresh handkerchief. He accepted it gratefully, blowing his nose, which caused Lucy to jolt awake with surprise.

"Sorry," he apologized, and she blinked wearily, looking at him.

"Are we still alive?" she asked, noticing that Susan was still asleep, curled into a little ball. Edmund was still resting as well, stretched longways on the rug.

"Yes," Mrs. Pevensie chuckled. "And the bombings seem to have stopped for the time being."

Peter eased Lucy off of him, and stood, massaging his neck. He coughed into a fist, feeling terrible, and wanted nothing more than to curl into bed and sleep for a month.

"D'you think we can go outside?" Lucy asked, letting out a whimper. Her hair was all over the place, and Peter smoothed it gently for her.

"I think we might be able to take a peak," Mrs. Pevensie replied with a sad smile, and Susan made a small grunt, turning over at last.

"Where'm I?" she asked, and Peter sniffed, opening the door to the shelter. What he saw made everything in his body freeze. The roof of their house was blown off, and the entire base was charred.

"Oh my God," Mrs. Pevensie breathed, covering her mouth with her hands as she followed her son to the lawn.

Peter blinked as he stepped forward…his bedroom was on the second floor, so he would have been killed had they remained inside during the bombings. He felt his mother grip his shoulder for dear life, and he held onto her hand, giving her a comforting look.

"Mummy…" Lucy began to cry as soon as she saw what had happened, and Susan reacted in pretty much the same manner.

"I'm surprised the whole house didn't fall down," Edmund pointed out, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"That's real nice, Ed," he retorted, and Mrs. Pevensie blew out her breath.

"Well, brick doesn't damage that easily by fire, but the roof was never very sturdy," she replied. "Thank God we're all safe. I'm not sure how easy it's going to be to get your things out so we can go to Professor Kirke's but…"

"Didn't he say Tuesday, Mum?" Peter asked, sniffling, and she looked at him.

"Yes, but he told me if things took a bad turn with the bombing threats, that we were to report to him whenever we had to."

Peter rubbed his arms as they stepped over pieces of fallen debrees towards the house, and what he saw next made his heart break. The fairy house, the one that he and Lucy had worked so hard on the past couple of months since his illness, lay shattered in pieces on the front porch.

Lucy wailed, clinging to his arm helplessly, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Shhhshh," he soothed, kissing the top of her head. "Lucy, we can always rebuild it. We might even be able to do that at Professor Kirke's…being as he's out in the country."

Lucy snuffled, rubbing her nose, and hiccoughed for a few minutes. The house itself was mostly intact inside, but of course due to the roof being off, the upstairs had a huge hole in the center of the hallway floor where the implosion had come. Furniture was overturned and glass was everywhere…Peter suggested that the girls stay outside where it was safe, and he go in to start packing their things.

"I'll be all right, Peter," Susan insisted, her voice very quiet, as though she were a little nervous about crossing her brother.

"Susan, Peter's right," Mrs. Pevensie continued. "Just tell him what you think you'll need, and we'll go in. It's not safe if all of us go at once."

"My fairy book," Lucy spoke up, and Peter smiled at her. "Find that, can you, Peter?"

He nodded. "I'll try," he replied, and after Edmund was allowed in as well, the two girls sat outside on the front lawn, watching as their neighbors wandered about the street, tring to help one another. They were both together when Aunt Anna came down in her little motor car, and immediately hopped to their feet when she climbed out.

"Oh, oh thank God…thank God," Aunt Anna breathed, embracing both of her nieces. "You're safe…"

"We all are," Susan replied. "Mum, Peter and Edmund are inside trying to bring out our things…we're going to the country soon."

Aunt Anna shook her head sorrowfully at the state of the Pevensie household, and kept her hand in Lucy's.

"There is a train for children going out to the country first thing tomorrow morning," she explained. "I've come to offer my house as a place to stay until then. I've thank heavens remained untouched…my street in its entirey were lucky."

Mrs. Pevensie eventually came out to see her sister with her daughters, and the two women embraced, breaking down in quiet sobs. Peter struggled to carry a couple of suitcases worth of clothing for his sisters, and Lucy beamed when he produced her fairytale book.

"Oh thank you," she exclaimed, hugging him tightly.

"Peter, dear…are you all right?" Aunt Anna asked, and he nodded.

"Except for a cold, he's just fine," Mrs. Pevensie answered.

"Oh dear," Aunt Anna clucked. "Well, as soon as we go to my house, we'll get you into bed and with a cup of hot tea."

Peter smiled gratefully as Edmund stumbled out next, carrying his own things. The family piled into the small motorcar; laps had to be shared, but that was perfectly acceptable given the circumstances, so no one complained. Peter fought several urges to sneeze, not wanting to do so on Lucy's head as she sat nestled against him.

It was true…Aunt Anna's neighborhood had barely been touched by the air raids, which was a pure miracle.

"All right, dears," Aunt Anna announced once everything was out of the car. "In you go."

Lucy bit her lip…the last time she'd been here was when Peter had the measles, and she felt her stomach twisting with worry at the sound of his cough. Rollie the cat lay across the doormat as they opened the front door, and she shooed him off with a small kick.

"Stupid cat," Lucy growled, and Peter touched her shoulder, before being directed to the spare bedroom upstairs.

"So tomorrow we'll go to Professor Kirke's, then?" Susan asked once they were all seated in the parlor, sipping tea and nibbling on krimpets. Aunt Anna had already brought Peter a mug upstairs, and returned shortly afterwards.

"Yes," Mrs. Pevensie replied. "It's two days early."

"You're welcome to use my telephone, Helen," Aunt Anna offered, and her sister went into the kitchen to do so at that very moment. While the two women were gone, Susan, Edmund and Lucy sat by themselves, silent. It was so strange to think that just the day before, everything was perfectly normal.

"Oh dear," Susan breathed, sipping from her mug…for their lives would never return to normal again after this. In fact, she didn't know how it could possibly be.


End file.
